... 16

So I’m 37 officially-now what?

The day after my birthday is the happiest day of the year-with the spotlight off my head and the nervousness and restlessness miraculously gone as if they never were.

I can understand not being thrilled about getting older but that is now; what about childhood? Kids are supposed to love their birthday parties don’t they?

The trouble (and a trouble it is for it is what keeps me stuck in one place) is that I fail at finding a reason good enough to bother. It all (and I mean all, as everything) seems deprived of meaning and not worth any effort. At all.

Why bother going to the gym at least 3 times a week, drinking green tea, quitting smoking, eating healthy etc? So that I would die at 90 instead of 70?! Somehow I don’t think I’d miss much.

There was a joke that went: Who wants to be 81? Someone who’s 80.

Thanks but no; thanks.

There’s a difference between not doing something because you won’t and because you can’t. And old age is about reduced choices; it’s like a permanent and eventually terminal disability. Why would I, why would anyone want to suffer the humiliation of helplessness?

Feeling insecure, uncertain and in doubt just about everything is OK when you’re a teenager and scary to the extent of horror and panic as you approach what is known as middle-age.

Most people point out kids as a reason to live. But I’m not most people. And that has been the problem all along hasn’t it?

Droop wears you out.