Basically, it is coming to pass like any other day. Cat litter needed scooping and I wanted to get it replaced today so I wouldn't have a to-do list on my actual birthday that included hauling out clumps of feline piss and shit. Alas, there is no litter in the house. So I can add a trip to PetSmart to my to-do list on my birthday.
It will also be like any other day in that I'm working. I may take off at noon. We'll see how that pans out. The grass is still green, and the sky is still blue. (And the clouds are still white or gray.) The wind still blows and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Turning 50 is just a day older than turning 49.972603 which is my approximate age at the moment I'm typing this.
I'm a workaholic and a drunk with a penchant for wine, weed and
I am no stranger to depression and distress
I can be pretty hard on myself for not completing things I wanted to do while I was in my 40s. (Well, if they haven't gotten done by now, lighten the fuck up why don'cha?) I'll just reschedule. Simple.
When I moved to Austin at the age of 37, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd still be living here when I turned 50. In the best case scenario this is about twice as long as I've ever stayed in one place previously.
I've been obsessed with the census since 1970. I participated in my first one, with great joy and fanfare, in 1980. This is my 4th census in which I participated and the first one in which I've been living as an adult in the same city and the same house since the last one!
So many things have stayed the same since that dreaded day 10 years ago when I went from 39 to 40. And so many things have changed. Even 5 years ago I had no idea what a blog was. HTML were meaningless consonants. My cellphone was probably the size of a fanny pack and it didn't do a fucking thing but make and receive calls. Ahh, those were the days.
So, txrad is going to make me
Yesterday I went out and spent way too much money on a bottle of single malt scotch which I shall relish at the exact moment I turn 50 on Thursday. (It's after-hours in case any work folks are reading this. Around 6:35 PM if I recall.) This scotch was poured into a barrel when I was 33. Shit, I'd barely learned to use the internet back then. A fax machine was still pretty fucking cool and I was probably just learning how to put color in cells in a spreadsheet. River Phoenix hadn't even overdosed yet in front of the Viper Room, but he was getting pretty damn close. I'll bet he wishes he was 50. (Or not.)
Bill Clinton was starting year #1 of his two terms and had no idea he was going to eventually blow a load on Monica's blue dress. (But I'll bet he was thinking about it.) Jurassic Park was released! (Wait, that doesn't seem that long ago!)
Babies born that year are packing for college. Whitney Houston had a #1 hit on the Billboard charts. There's been lots of water under the bridge since then!
This is why I hate milestone birthdays. I can't get my brain to fucking shut itself off. So while I may turn 50, I can sip and relish something sublime from another era, an era that is lost except for memories and the contents of a bottle. And that too shall soon be pissed away.
I've decided these annual birthdays are a crock of shit. Henceforth, I will only acknowledge birthdays which are prime numbers. The last one was 47. The next one is 53. Fuck everything in between.
Primes make the number of birthdays a hell of a lot more palatable.
Whatever happens, it's a big improvement over last year.