Ever so quietly, over the weekend, I lost a dear loved one–my youth. That’s right, I turned 30 on Saturday, and I have been complaining about osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia ever since.
I decided to forgo a giant birthday bash, and just spend my last night as a 20-something wearing sweatpants on my parent’s couch, eating ice cream, watching Battlestar Galactica, and crying. A fitting way to ring in my twilight years. And although I have started to notice some fine lines around my eyes, I am retaining my youthful acne, so I guess it’s the best of both worlds really.
Goodman is out of town tonight, so it’s just me and a bunch of cats. I will be wearing a valour jogging suit (that’s how jersey girls age) and watching Matlock. Doesn’t that make you want to come over and play bingo? But I don’t have bingo at my house, so I guess poker will have to do. Bring prunes and ben gay.
You know, when I was your age, poker would go until 3am every week and 20 people would be there starting at 7:30pm. We had to walk uphill both ways to Dolin’s snooty apartment, sneaking moonshine past the prohibition enforcers. We all wore suits back then. It was a more formal era. Our conversation was smart and our phones were dumb. The world was our oyster. The sky was the limit.
Today I ate an entire wheel of cheese for lunch and took a nap sitting up at my desk.
There is an Inn of Court session tonight, so I will need a bit extra time to get back to the house and straighten up before hoards of drunken young whippersnappers show up. On the other hand, old people go to bed early, so I don’t want to start too late. Tonight’s Inn topic is “Careers in IP” which doesn’t really interest me since I am nearing retirement age. I will hobble out early if I can. Ergo, I guess 8pm is a safe start time. Please RSVP. Senior citizens don’t like surprises.