I’m so bald. And fat. I shouldn’t have skipped so many classes in high school. I shouldn’t have listened to my friend Corey when he dared me to jump in that river when I was 18 – my ankle wouldn’t be bothering me so much. I definitely shouldn’t have smoked so much dope and dropped so much acid in college. I should have listened to my mom more. I shouldn’t let the little things get to me so much. I should be much more bothered by the big stuff. If I would have taken a few risks in my life I’d be rich and famous now without a doubt. I’m a coward. I took the easy way out so many times. I come across much more confidant than I am. I’m an imposter.

In a little more than an hour I’ll be 36. How the f*#k did this happen to me. In a little more than an hour I’ll be 36. How the f*#k did this happen to me.

Maybe if I keep talking it will sink in. But I doubt it.

You know what I notice about being 36? You’re smack in the middle of everyone. 20-somethings look at you with pity and foreboding (“DUDE – you are wicked old! Is that your skin falling down your face?”) and those older than you regale you with a patronizing “You think 36 is old? You’re a pup!”. Like these idiots know anything about my life or what has brought me here. Frigging 40ish idiots. I will be you someday.

At 36 you’re at that point that getting out of a chair is starting to elicit small yet audible moans. When you’re 36 and you catch a glimpse of the on-air talent at MTV for a second while channel surfing you’re suddenly overcome with an awful sense of dread and fear of who will be running the country in your old age.

Its 36 years gone. Just like that. At the speed of light. In the next 36 years I will very likely be dead. Just like that. At the speed of light.

Happy Birthday to me.

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