Another birfday come and gone

So. Another year and another birthday. Yay for me (happy happy joy hoy). With that said, I have to admit that I'm not very big on birthdays. I don't care about them, I don't post them (mine or anyone else's) on my calendar and I don't do anything out of the ordinary to celebrate them. If one says 'happy birthday' to me I simply smile and say 'thank you'.

But as this one passes by, it has me thinking -- damn, I'm getting old. I'm almost 40. Back when I was 6 or 7, I distinctly remember calculating how long it was until my 40th and when it would be. Of course, it's some simple math and a year but.. do you understand how long that is to a child of 6 or 7? It might as well have been forever. And a day. Thirty plus years was a long time ago. Back then, it was awe-inducing to think, wow, I'll be 40 someday. I'll be 40 in 30 some-odd years. I've got plenty of time to do all the shit I want. I got plenty of time.

And now it's here. It's right here, on my doorstep, knocking with the knuckle on its index finger. It's tapping gently to let me know, "Hey, just a kindly reminder!" But, soon, it will start rap rap rapping away, its impatience steadily growing to let me know that the day is getting closer. And, next year, bam! Forty is going to haul its ass right through that door, ready or not.

And what have I done in those 30+ years to get ready? Absolutely fucking nothing. That's what.

While I was busy doing stupid shit, Forty was laying out its plan. While I was drinking and driving, Forty was shining its shoes. While I was seeking new and creative ways to do nothing, Forty was fitting a coat. And now that Forty is at the door, I want to tell it to go fuck itself.

Granted, with the time I've had being unemployed, I've tried some new things. I've gone back to school, I've dabbled in hobbies, I've contemplated ways of becoming rich and famous (without the famous part). But I haven't accomplished shit. I look around me and I see that things are not only moving at amazing speeds, they're moving in ways I've never even conceived.

Is this what old people feel like? I thought it was just the VCR they couldn't figure out.

It's weird. I thought I had time. I thought I could be the person I was being. Turns out, it wasn't the best move I've made. The best laid plans sometimes fail. Not making any plans fails miserably. And I'm miserable.

So what do I do now? When I answer the door next year, I want Forty to be, like, "Yo, dude! Fucking brilliant! Let's get a beer and celebrate." I don't want it barreling in and saying, "What the fuck, dude? What. the. fuck!?"

But, hey.. At least I'm not so uptight to say fuck it all and break up with someone because that someone texted me a happy birthday wish. Seriously? You know what, Mer? Go fuck yourself.