Last night, as I wrote this, I was tired. Out of gas. Completely. I can remember when I would work until 3 in the morning and be back to work at 8:30 because I didn't want to give 'em the overtime back. And I felt fine doing it.
Yesterday morning I got into work at 6. I left work at 8 yesterday evening. A longish day, yes, but I used to do that kind of day standing on my head.
Apparently, no more.
On Monday, the calendar of my life flips over into another year. 63. How the hell did that number get to be so big?
I can remember a time when I was sure - I was totally convinced - I would not live to see 31. I don't know why I had picked out that number as the largest I would get to, but I did. I've lived a whole 'nuther 31 since I made it to my magic number. Monday will be the 32nd anniversary of my 31st birthday.
I am started on my 3rd 31.
I wonder what won't be working on my 93rd birthday.