I guess this begins my fifth decade. I’ve mentioned it before but it feels like after you’re twenty-one there’s nothing more remarkable than the slow accretion of time in the lines around eyes and pursed lips, the thought that we should be scrapping for funds and staying young and vigorous by pushing forth doesn’t necessarily fill me with the thought of glee – who wants to be out there pushing always pushing – but I understand how you’d want to make yourself better suited for a morning rotation.
It looks like my parents had called yesterday and I missed the message somehow. Most of my evening activity yesterday was spent trying to pull things together in some desperate semblance of attention to detail anyway; I find myself getting sucked into a very detailed set of arguments and every day that ticks by is like a knife in the heart, and it means more is coming. More of what? More of everything.