On Turning 40
Phun with Photoshop Corporate letters Bear Notch Road Emails from Heck

 

This little diatribe was originally intended to go to a private digest. It never made it, having been somehow railroaded straight to the UUCdigest. I'm not convinced that I'm not actually doing it on purpose at some level because I seem to do this so damn frequently. Fortunately, I didn't name any names or call anybody pigbutt or anything stupid like that. This time. 


Ya know, it seems just like yesterday that I was in my 30s. (Hey, waddayawant fer nuthing: philosophy? I haven't been forty for 24 hours and I already can feel the remaining synapses that I didn't destroy via drugs in my teens and twenties or alcohol in my thirties already atrophying. So if you're looking for brilliance, look elsewhere. I'm forty dammit!) (And another thing, all you fooking oldsters who keep telling me that 40 is nothing haven't a bloody clue what a trauma this is. Sure you went through it yourself, and yeah I know that your forties were the best years of your lives but what about the day you turned 40? I don't care about the future, I'm not even looking 24 hours ahead, I'm talking RIGHT NOW! Tell me you didn't feel OLD. Older than the hills themselves before they were mountains awaiting to be eroded to mere nubs of their once majestic peaks, long about back when they were plains awaiting seismic upheaval. OOOOOOLLLLLDDDDD! 
So where was I? Crap! I can't remember! See? It's starting already, I'm starting to dodder. 
Oh dear God, I'm starting to whine too. SEE THIS? I'm already a whiny doddering old fool. Honey, bring me my Grampers, I think I'm about to soil myself. Better get me a Metamucil chaser while you're at it.
40. Ugh. Now I gotta act all respectable like. I'm going to have to use words like 'tangiblize cohesive personalization.' I'm prolly even going to have to buy me a suit that fits.

*Sigh* That's another thing. They all used to fit. Where'd all this meat come from?

Oh shut up. I *know* it's not meat but it ain't fat.

It's marbling.

40. 4 decades. Think of all the things that I haven't yet done that aren't going to get any easier. Things like: Climbing Everest without the benefit of oxygen. Hell, I might as well say naked too. Errr.. better scratch that. Frostbite is even worse than getting herculiner on your hootus. I've yet be the first person to drive a Ferrari 250GT down the Champs Elyesesssesye (you know what I mean. Look up the spelling yourself, ya lazy sod. It's in France.) at 150 mph using people and curbs as apexes. Whaddaya mean it's been done? See? This is what 40 has gotten me already! Go ahead, shatter my dreams, why doncha? You might as well tell me that someone broke the sound barrier in a car too. I can probably also kiss the 4 minute mile goodbye too. Hell, at this point, I'm not even sure that I can do it on a bike. And no, I'm not talking about the kind you pedal either. I'll also probably never get a single string of beads at Mardi Gras just for showing my... Dammit STOP LAUGHING. This is serious! I can't even  giggle at my own gas again until I'm at least 70. Wearing tight jeans isn't even much of a pleasure any more unless the refrigerator repairman look ever comes back. I can't use my spray-on hair anymore without people pointing and laughing.

Ok, fine, I never could do that anyway. I'll concede that point. (Whoever thought that was a good idea to begin with? Probably the same guy who ate the first oyster. Except the oyster thing kinda worked out ok. Oh, and there goes my powers of logic! Now I'm a doddering whining illogical old fool who doesn't know when to shut up. I can't wait to be a stinking burden to everybody around me!)

Don't say it. I know what you're thinking and I know where you live, so don't even think it.

40. God. You know what the worst thing about all this is? The very worst thing? Here it is: I've just re-read this and I missed the closing parenthesis in the first freaking paragraph. Now I'm an old forgetful illogical complaining needy oddly hairy whiny illogical burdensome whiny repetitive old fool.

Great.

That's it. I'm done. Tomorrow is looking like it's going to be a bitching day. Think I'll go pre-empt that with a skull banging hangover.

Have a wonderful evening.

Porridgehead

PS - Oh yeah, I almost forgot the parenthesis. Good thing I didn't drop my colon too. )