Turning the big FOUR-OH
I'm not really big on celebrating birthdays. Not because I'm anti-fun (although I probably am *waves curmudgeonly fist*) but because it seems like it depresses people more than it cheers them up. Sure when you're eight and it's all presents and birthday cake, hell yeah let's do this thing! But when you turn forty, that's just a giving you a glimpse into the darkness of your own mortality. You take stock of your life and realize you'd better get cracking before it gets away from you. *cue mid-life crisis* I turned forty on the fifth of February. It hasn't caused a sudden breakdown nor do I particularly notice a difference between this one and the last dozen or so. The hair has silvered and I seem to have replaced peaceful slumber with...ummm...not sleeping but that's about it. I have my goals: write stories, lose weight and live to become the world's oldest mammalian lifeform. Beyond that, I don't particularly care about being forty any m...