Happy Birthday to Me

I want to thank everybody for the birthday wishes yesterday. As much as I dislike my birthday (two days after Jesus' birthday kind of takes away some of the glamour), I do appreciate all the attention. What I have never liked about my birthday, along with sharing with Jesus, is that it is always damn cold. Every year it's the same thing, bitter cold, snow on the ground, and everybody exhausted from the holidays. I did try to make it better by moving to Florida for twenty seven years, but with all the retirees down there it only reminded me that I was hurtling towards old age. So yes, I have ticked off another year from my life. When I look back to that time I moved to Florida, it seems like only yesterday. I remember it all. The move out of my apartment in Chicago, driving down there with Garrett, the house I moved into. It all seems so fresh in my memory. It was nearly twenty nine years ago. Those years have just flown by. I'm not stupid, I can do rudimentary math. Twenty nine years from now, if I'm still alive, I'll be ninety seven damn years old. It wouldn't be so bad if you could maintain your looks, health, and stamina right up to the moment of your demise. But no, you end up living like a slug. Barely able to move. You can't go to the bathroom without fearing that you'll fall in. Personal hygiene suffers. I'm sure that even Hugh Hefner was a smelly old fart during his last years. The difference is that he was rich. I don't have the money to pay young people to hang around and pretend that I don't smell bad. Oh well, today I'll go out and visit Mom. She's ninety six and she's pissed off about growing old too.