I turn 36 in two hours, but I can’t share that kind of knowledge with you yet, so for now I’ll tell you how old I feel as 35.
I complain to myself if the grass needs to be cut at City Hall or any other public park where I walk Tako. “This grass is really due for a cut. It’s getting out of hand.”
Sometimes when my excuse is “I have plans” it means “I have plans, by myself—to do nothing.”
My back now audibly cracks when I’m laying down and I twist to one side. What the fuck is that? Why? Why does it do this? It’s as if I hear every single vertebrae telling me: Bitch. You. Old. As. Fuck.
If the bar is loud and crowded—I don’t want to go. If I can’t sit—I don’t want to go. If I can’t hear your recap of life from the past 3 weeks—I don’t want to go. There are so many places we can quietly get alcohol in this city, let’s go there.
I get motion sick when I ride the elevator to the 61st floor at work. It easily has one of the best cafes and views San Francisco has to offer (for free), yet I avoid it because I feel extreme discomfort by just going up/down the elevator.
I believe in sprints, not marathons. If you invite me to Vegas, I will go. I will go hard for 24 hours and not a minute more. I’m like a supernova, I will burn bright—then slowly fade. Then you won’t see me for 2-3 weeks because I will be hibernating to get back to my normal state.
I’ve mended my relationships with most alcohol spirits despite me swearing them off at various points in time. Except cognac, cause cognac is gross.
I refuse to deal with the reality of my parents aging. To me they will always be the strongest, most responsible people on the planet—but I see them slowing down, I see them becoming frail as the months go by but I’d rather not accept it. I’m in denial about heart valves, and ailments, and colonoscopies and all that other really serious shit that surfaced in this decade.
It has occurred to me that my parents were right. I get it now. I understand why they were strict as fuck, why they didn’t let us sleep at random friends houses, why they made sure to nag the hell out of us, why they did everything in their power to keep us safe. I. Fucking. Get. It. They kept us safe.
I judge how clean everyone keeps their toilets. It takes 2 minutes to clean your toilet, weekly. No one has an excuse to have a shitty toilet. Pun intended.
I “you got food at home” myself all the fucking time. If you ever need convincing you’re a fully fledged adult just rationalize with yourself that you don’t need to buy takeout or delivery because you actually have food in your fridge.