Look who's... oh, you all know the rhyme. Don't make me say it.
Oh my god, people. I'm totally old! It's my birthday today, and I just got back from a totally excellent weekend in Montréal (see what I did there? It's totally French!) with two totally excellent friends. And I am tahred. I mean, way tahred. It turns out -- and I realize that this is going to be a shocking revelation for some of you and I'm sorry to have to shake your view of The Way Things Are -- but it turns out that the forty year old body does not easily do the things the twenty year old body did. I stayed up all the way until one o'clock in the morning last night and, whoo, I am feeling it.
Also, it took an actual hour, a whole hour, of waiting to get over the US border. Dudes. If, say, you were looking for employment opportunities, and had maybe a little handcart with, oh, hotdogs and cold soda and water, you would make a killing walking between the lanes of idling vehicles up there. A killing. Just a thought for anyone who might be looking to get rich quick this summer and isn't too picky about working conditions. I'm not kidding. The border guard mentioned it, and the man's had some time to think about this.
Wanna know something funny? As a kid I always loved my birthdate. It's just so convenient. Born in a year ending in a 0 makes the math easy, thought my third grade self, and born in the summer meant I was always the same age through each school year so I could always figure out how old I'd be for any given grade. I know, weird, right? But I found it gave me a nice solid footing when it came to figuring the progress of my life.
And then I went and finished school and the agrarian-based schedule of the US school system was no longer the organizing principle of my life. Dang it all!
So. 40. How 'bout that. Time to find me a new organizing principle. I wonder if Moleskine makes a journal for that.