I'm singing this song today. But by "they" I mean all of the calendars and by "you" I mean my early thirties.
Turning 36 isn't so bad. It is cool that it's one of those ages where the first digit is exactly half of the second digit, so that's fun. Generally speaking, I like when one number is odd and the other is even. Two even digit years or two odd digit years sort of creep me out. I like one of each digit.
The problem with being 36 is that I feel like I'm actually 86.
I think what burns me the most is that I could sit here and write a post about all the things I want to accomplish this year, but I could just as easily point you towards old New Year Resolution posts or the one I wrote a while ago about getting my health in order. They would all read the same.
One thing I did that I really wanted to do with 35 was get the writing thing going. I've written that into the ground. You can thank me later for not flogging that dead horse any longer. For now anyway.
Other than that though, nothing. I have no accomplishments to rave about. I had considered doing a birthday post of 36 random acts of kindness, similar to ones of I've seen floating around the internet, but that sounded exhausting. Seriously, thirty SIX nice things? In one day? I'm not a super-woman, you know.
Another blog post title I toyed with: 36 By 36. This was before I was attempting to make all of my blog post titles only one word. By the way, did you notice I do that? Aren't I clever? Yes, I'm SO unique.
Anyway, the post would have been the play-by-play of 36 (pounds lost) by (age) 36. However, I would have had better luck with a post about (eating) 36 (thousand burritos) by (age) 36.
I told all of my kid's friends at school that I turned 21 and one "adorable" little girl said, "Aren't you supposed to be OLD?" I said, "Oh, I AM old honey, trust me." She giggled. I think she was laughing at me.
So what will 36 bring? I don't know. I have some hopes for the year, some I want to change my life this way or that way dreams. Maybe this can be the year I dream less and do more. Or hire people to do for me (like clean the house, that could work). No really, I need to do stuff I can't hire people for. It's a long boring list of stuff. I assure you it won't do me any favors to blog about it at this juncture...
For now, 36 is going to be like 35. I'm going to vacuum my house, marvel at and complain about the massive amounts of dog hair I suck up. Then I'll ask the very original question of the dog, "Dexter, seriously, how do you have ANY fur left on you??" He will pant and walk away.
Here's to another year. Happy birthday, Me.
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