Z/Web

Well, today was my birthday. My thirty-second. Unbelievable. I don’t know where they all went. I certainly don’t feel that old. I told my uncle that since the first ten or twelve years of life are basically non-sentient they don’t count, so really I’m twenty-two. That strikes me as more accurate. Of course I still feel like I should have done something with those twenty-two years. But then, half of those were in school, and what can one accomplish in school? So really I’ve had little more than a decade of independence — and I feel I’ve gained a few things during those years though I haven’t done many of the things I wanted to do. On the one hand I read stories about famous writers (like Oscar Wilde) who died young yet accomplished so much in the few years they had, and on the other I hear about people (like Colonel Sanders) who didn’t start their famous careers until their sixties! So there’s hope at either end of life, I suppose. I’ve decided to not worry about it. My writing career will take off when it is time and not before.