On Being 39

Naturally, being 39 feels like being 38.

Which felt like 37.

You can see where I am going with this.

What I did not expect was when my husband asked me what I wanted to do for my 40th birthday next year.  I mostly told him to slow down cowboy and let me get to 39 first.  (He asked last month.)

I don’t know why I said that and in the tone I said it if you can imagine it, I was a little freaked out because 40.

But 40 is just a number.  And while I have enjoyed my 30s, there have been times that I could just do away with (miscarriage, multiple tries with IVF, my mom’s cancer, etc.) but there will be those times in my 40s as well.  It’s not an only 30s thing.  It’s a life thing.  There’s good, and there’s bad.


So, I am.

After much thinking, I suggested these things to him:

  • Going to New York Comic-Con (yes, I know it’s in October)
  • A trip to Minneapolis, Austin, or Portland, ME
  • Matching tattoos

Okay, maybe I was half kidding about the tattoos.  I can’t even settle on a place to put my dragon tattoo on so what makes me think that getting matching ones would be a good idea?

I don’t.


On another note, my husband and I were at my parents house visiting. It’s tradition.  My mom would kill me if I didn’t come home for my birthday. Anyway, the tradition goes as such: the day we arrive, we rest for a couple of hours before hitting the casino and having dinner there.  At around 9 or 9:30 pm, I am bored enough to go home because I have spent the $20 that my mom gave me, and I don’t want to gamble with my own money. Afterwards, my husband and I will go home and hang out, tv on and surfing the internet.  Or trying to, the wi-fi is spotty, but it’s an improvement because for the longest time it was dial-up.

Yes, that’s right.


But I digress, the following day, we eat breakfast/lunch and then hit the mall where my present is shopping for clothes.  It’s all that I want.  I’m not picky.

Well, that’s a damn dirty lie.  I am picky about my clothes.  Later on that night the casino again.  See last night’s activities and you get the picture. Sunday, we pack up the car and head home after a late breakfast.

It’s what we do.

Never in the time that I have been doing this – all 20 years or so – I have never run into an old classmate.  Until yesterday.  I’m amazed really.  C_____ is a small town.  We hit the places where most people would go.  No one here is indie driven.  If they are, they don’t live here.


But yes, I hadn’t run into anyone from my old high school and before you ask me have I changed that much?  Physically?  Please.  I haven’t grown since I hit the sixth grade.  My hair hasn’t changed color – except for the gray that I waffle on coloring – and well, I just look the same.

Seriously.  I look the same.

I had a pleasant chat with her, she looked the same as well if a few wrinkles here and there – I’m sure I have wrinkles as well, but I haven’t noticed them.  But what struck me a little was that she was constantly in profile to me.  It was a little strange, but hey, who am I to judge?  Give me your profile.  I don’t care.  If that’s your best angle, then that’s your best angle.

Anyway, that’s all.

Good night.



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