Whoops!

OK, I'm cheating a little.

Happy birthday to me!

I took an online survey today, and when I got to the demographics of who I am, I found that I now fall into the 35–44 age group. Tear. Crying. So sad.

No, not really. I'm 35 now, once again impressed that I've made it this far. I don't feel 35, but then, what does 35 feel like? Half the time, I'm cracking up to some ridiculous joke, making fun of my boss, being entirely puerile and bordering on juvenile. Is that a 35 year old? I look at my father for comparison—though I'm not sure why since our lives couldn't be more different—and realize that when he was 35, he had two children, was in the process of a divorce and a new life, and was successfully running his own company. Is that what 35 is all about?

I know, I know, it's all relative. My 35 is not going to be the same as anyone else's 35, and there's no reason to compare. I still get surprised looks from people who wouldn't have guessed I was as old as I am, although I have to wonder if they have ulterior motives behind their compliments. Whatever.

I'm still alive. I'm healthier than I thought I was. And I'm employed. What more can I ask for?

That's all.

I was silly enough to write this at 1:54 PM