Dawn Is Me

I turned 50 years old today.

Half a century. Wow.

No, I still don’t feel any different. But clearly, this makes a difference to other people.

What did I do for my birthday? I visited the doctor’s office.

This is how I can tell that I have crossed a threshhold. Now, in the doctor’s office, I’m discussing menopause and preventive colostomies.

And I got my very first invitation to join AARP in the mail!

Some of my children wished me a happy birthday.

As usual, there was no birthday cake.

But I think I’m at the stage where there is no longer any question: I am a grownup.

Otherwise … just another day.

So, tell me if this ever happens to you.

Every now and then, I forget how old I am.

That’s not quite as insane as it may sound. Well, at least, I hope not … but, then, that’s why I’m asking you about it. Always operating under the assumption that you are possibly more sane than I am.

Anyway, for about two weeks after my birthday, I find myself telling myself at random moments, “I am N years old,” where N is equal to my current age at the moment — as contrasted to my former age, which was my current age a week or so before the aforementioned episode of talking to myself.

Maybe I am insane.

Yes, it’s sad but true. Right after I have a birthday, I am constantly in danger of forgetting that I’ve had a birthday and the age I’m used to being, after a year of being that age, is no longer the age I am.

Interestingly, this is not a problem I had when I was, say, thirteen.

I don’t think that’s a function of creeping senility, either.

When you’re twelve and you turn thirteen, you have spent a lot of time up until your birthday reminding yourself that you are about to turn thirteen. That’s because you’re a kid and you’re excited about the notion of getting older — especially one of the biggies, like thirteen, when you ‘officially’ enter the magical land of teendom.

In fact, when you’re that age, you have to exert a certain amount of control over yourself to keep yourself from telling people that you’re 13 for at least the last month before your birthday.

By the time you get to be my age, such excitement no longer applies.

It’s sad and bewildering but, for some reason, I am not exactly excited anymore about getting older. Oh well … that’s another change that you kiddies have to look forward to.

(Happy birthday to me, I live in a tree, the bark’s my backscratcher and I’m a veggie!)

Every now and then, I think I’m going to run out of song titles and/or lyrics with which to entitle my blog posts.

Hasn’t happened yet. How many years have I been doing this? (of course, it helps that I sometimes go for months without posting but still … )

By popular demand, I have reinstalled email notification of new blog posts, so that my undying fans will always know when there is newly posted silliness in the life and times of moi.

If you happen to be one of just a few people I arbitrarily added to this list, but who had never been on it before … well, it’s tempting to just say suck up and deal with it, but I won’t. I added you because I thought you might be interested in keeping up with me and mine. If, on the other hand, you just want to rid your email inbox of something else you didn’t ask for, you can always unsubscribe.

So, this post is something in the nature of a test. If everything is working like it should be, you should get an email telling you about it momentarily.

We will not return control of your inbox to you. Please return your stewardess to her original, upright position. We hope you enjoyed the flight and thank you for flying DIM Airways.

(AND I wound up having to upgrade my installation of WP to use this plugin, which I needed to do anyway, so … thanks for complaining, Gina! Okay, that’s enough geekness for one day.)