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Mark at 42
Jan. 5th, 2015 03:07 pmForty-two. According to "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," it's the "Answer to The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything."
Mark at 42
I usually have some kind of idea of something to write about when my birthday rolls around, but strangely enough, I haven't thought anything. Usually, there is some sort of anticipation or excitement or something associated with it, but this year it just seemed to get tied up with the rushes of everything else.
I never really put a lot importance to my birthdays. When I was a kid, my sister often got cookouts on her birthday. When I asked Mom why I never got a cookout, she replied that she was not going to cook outside in January. Rhonda's birthday is in June.
Today, I got up and shaved (though I didn't have to). While it's cold out, the sun is shining. I drove to the county clerk's office to pay my property tax on my car, and only got dirty looks by two drivers who were obviously in a bigger hurry than me on the highway. On my way out of the courthouse, I ran into a man with fused fingers on my way out who joked that we were both doing the same thing. I told him it was my birthday and THIS was the first thing I did to celebrate. He wished me a happy birthday with a laugh. I stopped by the post office to mail some things where I was helped by a cute postal cubby.
For lunch, I treated myself at TGI Fridays, blowing my diet out of the water with cheesecake (mmmm... cheesecake...). My phone has vibrated like crazy today. Over 130 folks have wished me a Happy Birthday on Facebook, text messages, emails, and one country feller with fused fingers. It feels good.
42 feels good.
Mark at 42
I usually have some kind of idea of something to write about when my birthday rolls around, but strangely enough, I haven't thought anything. Usually, there is some sort of anticipation or excitement or something associated with it, but this year it just seemed to get tied up with the rushes of everything else.
I never really put a lot importance to my birthdays. When I was a kid, my sister often got cookouts on her birthday. When I asked Mom why I never got a cookout, she replied that she was not going to cook outside in January. Rhonda's birthday is in June.Today, I got up and shaved (though I didn't have to). While it's cold out, the sun is shining. I drove to the county clerk's office to pay my property tax on my car, and only got dirty looks by two drivers who were obviously in a bigger hurry than me on the highway. On my way out of the courthouse, I ran into a man with fused fingers on my way out who joked that we were both doing the same thing. I told him it was my birthday and THIS was the first thing I did to celebrate. He wished me a happy birthday with a laugh. I stopped by the post office to mail some things where I was helped by a cute postal cubby.
For lunch, I treated myself at TGI Fridays, blowing my diet out of the water with cheesecake (mmmm... cheesecake...). My phone has vibrated like crazy today. Over 130 folks have wished me a Happy Birthday on Facebook, text messages, emails, and one country feller with fused fingers. It feels good.
42 feels good.
