Sunday, August 21, 2011
Today is my birthday. I'm older than 21 but less than dead. :)
Okay, I admit it, I'm 39.
I don't mind the age, I don't feel thirty nine inside. Inside I'm a hyperactive teenage boy. Too bad I'm trapped in the body of an almost middle aged chubby woman.
What I'm worried about is that I've done so little with my life. Every year I get a little closer to the end of life. And it may not wait until I'm old. My health has gone in and out, especially my lungs.
I hate the idea that I'll die with nothing to show for it. Nothing to be remembered for. I never married and I can't say I'm sorry about that, I'm not. I'm not the marrying type. I've always been insular and have never met anyone I wanted to let into my private world.
I have no children. That is probably for the best. I'm not sure I'd be a good parent. I'm still too broken to give a kid the steady support he or she would need.
I do have family but they don't really know me and they don't want to really know me. They want me to be what they want me to be, not who I am.
Whatever they remember of me will only be a small part of who I am.
My friends know another part, bigger than that of my family but not all of me.
I thought when I was younger, my writing would be my legacy, the part of me I could preserve as I am but I'm not quite good enough.
I'm not bad just not world grade. :)
School's fallen through.
Writing has stalled.
I'm thirty-nine today and I wonder what's the point?
Next year will be like this year and the year before.
And it'll continue until I die.
It's all rather pointless.
Origami in the dark.
Anyway it's my birthday and I can be depressed if i want.