Well, here it is.
40 years old.
As we say in Anaheim, “Fucking Old.”
When I was a boy, I used to think, “Forty? That’ll be in 2005 – there’s no way I’ll live that long…” Right.
I usually tell people that the things I want for my birthday include being nice to strangers and things like that. Well, I had a personal run-in with some profound, obscene dishonesty recently (from my ex-wife, if you’d like to know), and that left me wanting only one thing for my birthday. If you want to give me something, here’s something: be honest. Be honest with your family. Be honest with your friends. Be honest at work. But, most of all, be honest with yourself. It’s a present for me that you could use, too. The world would be a much better place with a little honesty.
Today was the day I quit smoking. I had my last cigarette at 9:30am, about when I think I was born.
Well, after a while, Vicky and I got to bickering and the day wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped, so I started smoking again at around 4pm. Disappointed? Well, it’s not so bad. Tim was here and he had smokes and Vicky said, “Go ahead and smoke while he’s here.” So, I did.
(As for the day not going as I'd hoped, I should mention we had a great little party last night, thanks to Vic, and it was pretty splendid. She made my birthday something special - normal life just kicked in the next day, that's all.)
Don’t worry. I’m still quitting – just not on the hour I’d hoped.
Anyway, now I’m 40. I haven’t accomplished half of what I expected of myself. On the upside, I have Vicky in my life, which is five times more than I could have dreamed I’d have.
… and, when I was a kid, I didn’t think I’d make it this far…