Another birthday approaches and this old bull gets a little older. The awkward prime number 43 goes away and I earn 44. It’s suddenly weird to think myself at twice of 22, meaning if you’re 22, I could have easily been your father. Fuck, had you been in your 20s at all — even 29 — I had the means to be your father (yes, I could easily produce sperm at 15, although I’d never get anywhere near a vagina).
So what should I do to celebrate?
Alas, this year looks slender since the ole job search lumbers on. I have hope of relocation soon into the Midwest or even far West, but the opportunities wax and wane. I attempt to remain optimistic.
Optimism proves to be difficult on all fronts, but I’m sure some of you enjoy reading that, as I have heard of a few flaming with hatred. I don’t quite get it.
So this be nothing more than thoughts of nothing much as I contemplate that moment of 44.
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