Tomorrow is my 40th birthday. The way I figure it, that's about halfway, right? On the average, 80 is about the life expectancy (give or take a few years), so I should be taking stock of my life, what I've accomplished and likewise, what I haven't.
But I'm not.
Sure, I like to bitch about it and blame my lack of productivity on my age but the truth is, I don't really care. Birthdays were never a big thing in my family, which is odd considering that the relationships were very much notable due to age. My mother is 10 years older than my father and she had me when she was nearly 40, so very late in life and risky (the chances for Down Syndrome increase dramatically as those eggs get stale). My parent's reactions to birthdays were flavored by childhoods adrift in siblings and not a lot of money to celebrate. So even though I was an only child and finances had improved. The just weren't considered a big deal.
And neither is this post. I've begun to bore myself and that's not good.
Stacia says I'm in a writing rut because of the Mercury Retrograde. I really don't know what that means, but I'm always looking for something to blame my behavior on, so...
...why not tomato bacteria? The neighbors had a block party the other day and someone had a whole box of tomatoes. Didn't they take those off the shelves? They're so weird.
Aw shit...I got nuthin'. Does anyone have a question? I'll answer anything. If I don't know the answer, I'll make it up.