«The old believe everything; the middle-aged suspect everything; the young know everything.»
--Oscar Wilde
It's that time of year again: my birthday. As kid, I was hardly containable on the eve of the twelfth. December was a most excellent month for me. With presents arriving roughly every fortnight and Christmas vacation to boot, December proved tough to beat. However as an adult, which at 32 I mostly surely am (at least legally, if not morally), I have found this time of year to be the most distressing by a wide margin. Most of my close friends, who are numbered parsimonously in the best of times, are all widely dispersed now. Although I haven't been in a good relationship for too many years now, I find that I am thankful for not being in a bad one now. Despite some weight gain, I'm still in good health. Despite the terrible economy, I have found employment and possibly something even better. Although still learning the craft, I'm more confident than ever in my abilities as programmer and debugger.
All in all, it could be a hell of lot worse.
If this all seems a bit morbid for a birthday journal, please note that at the first high school party I attended (complete with cases of Old Milwaukee, Bud Lite, and the bitterly ironic Miller High Life), my attempts to hit on a lass yeilded only the comment "you're a maudlin drunk!" Nothing wounds like the truth.
However, I've gained nothing if not some insight into the nature of my particular mortal coil and I know part of me delights in the dark, the gloomy and the dramatic. Which is exactly why I enjoy humor, the antithesis of serious (and mostly worthless) sentiment. I am grateful that most of the barriers I now face in life of those of my own making.
So, on your knees 32; I'm your Daddy now.
I'll have a special something for you when I come down for the LOTR marathon on Tuesday.
