Thought while shopping at Trader Joe’s: Everyone should thank me for not wearing tights as “pants”.
Thought while stopping at a stop sign a half a block from my house: I don’t want to be one of those people who die on their birthday.
Back on the repeat track: Life is not life if it alters with alteration… (remember that old brain tick?)*
While sitting alone at La Rosa I “accidentally” listened to the conversation at a table near me and thought: That man is uncomfortable and feels this place is a little out of his league but he wants to impress his date and is interrogating the waitress like a policeman.**
Heard at the table behind Max and me at Adele’s: “I’ve killed all my boyfriends” She drank chablis, reeked of hard living, and wore a workman’s hat with metal studs in it.
So today I’m 44 years old. I don’t have that much to say about the age itself. I don’t have any particular feelings about the number 44. Wait, no, I do. 44 is a pretty nice looking number. Very crisp. Very sharp. 44 needs to wear ghillie brogues. Good thing I already own a pair. 44 begs for an ascot or diamonds. Now that I’m really looking at it – 44 is a pretty shiny number. 43 was much softer and home-bound and gut-spilling. 43 was all about the knits and the sweaters and pyjamas. 43 sleeps in but 44 is up at the crack of dawn. 43 wears slippers to the grocery store and 44 makes fun of it.
This is the year to get out the kinks, sharpen focus, tighten routines, power down and then power the fucking hell UP and UP and UP. This is the year to establish a new rhythm and reclaim so much lost highway. This is the year to punch holes in old lies and wear boss sunglasses.
There’s still time to die today.
*No? It’s a misquote of Shakespeare that my head repeats over and over and over and over sometimes. Or sometimes it just pops up randomly. I think the frequency with which my brain burps this one up is indication of how distressed it is.
**La Rosa isn’t fancy. I don’t feel comfortable at fancy places. But this guy was more of an Outback dude who orders onion flowers and who balks at the idea that the world has over 100 varieties of tequilas and La Rosa has them ALL.