I certainly hope this isn't a mid-life crisis, seeing how I am only going to be 34 on December 19th.
34. Thirty four. Thiiirty Fooour.
I do not like the sound of 34.
It is the first age to bother me, even a little bit.
I think it all started when my wonderful ex called me to give me shit about my birthday. "I'm still in my early thirties," I told him. "No your not, you'll be in your mid-30's," he reminded me.
Shit. The bastard is right.
Thirty didn't bother me one bit. I think it was because I was drunk most of the month of December that year.
Since then I haven't really thought about it. I mean, I'm genetically lucky and all. I don't have wrinkles. I don't even have fine lines. My face looks 22, and I still get carded.
So why should the whole 34 business be gnawing at the back of my sub-conscious?
I think I forget that I'm in my 30's. It certainly doesn't seem like I should be in my 30's. I don't look like it, act like it, or feel like it.
Part of my problem is I ran into a couple of people that graduated high school with me the other day. Damn did they look old. I looked in the bathroom mirror about 5 times that day to make sure that no crow's feet had planted themselves on my face.
They were totally tan though. Considering they were total idiots in high school, the leather like appearance of their skin told the tale that they had become a couple of idiot adults.
Damn you 34!
In unrelated news, I had to train someone today that talks like a baby. She said "Potty" at least four times.
These people creep.me.out.
She also called herself "Mommy." I asked how old her kids were. 14 and 17.
For the Love of God, will it ever end?