this the end…my only friend, the end

I’m rapidly approaching 35. And I don’t mean like how the waif blonds get so depressed on their 25th birthdays because they’re ALMOST 30…I mean I’m actually rapidly approaching 35. Like in the next couple of months.

You know the people that say “age is just a number”? Yeah, those are the people for whom age is just a number. I used to be one of those people; and was, in fact, for roughly 34 years, 187 days.

Not that I’m obsessing about it or anything.

Actually, I’m not obsessing about it, yet…but it does keep popping into my head randomly, which is odd. Recently it’s been a lot of, “wow, 35 years…that’s old.” Then today, it was, “wow, 35 years…what do you have to show for it?” That’s a harder pill to swallow. On paper, maybe not so much: still unmarried and a string of semi-successful but ultimately failed relationships, still renting yet doing so by choice so as to be able to leave near the beach, doing ok career-wise but may be stuck in middle-management for a long long time, lots of friends though maybe not enough to fill a club, in a silly office-band, still have the majority of my hair and maybe at least a 2-pack, feet hurt all the time though, and the bones are a bit creaky. It ain’t all bad.

I wonder if I’ll make another 35? I’d like to think so.

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