I turn 31 tomorrow. Now, before you run for the hills, let me assure you this is not one of those “I feel old” posts. Nope. I like turning 31. No problems with it or the aging process. Balding at the tender age of 17 will have that effect.
Okay, so I wasn’t happy about going on cholestorol medication this year, but I can deal. I’m a big boy, now. Fuck, I’m 31!
The last year has been a good one. I built on the career, and actually made it to the point where I can say cool shit like “Important announcement coming soon!”
I became a home owner.
I dropped twenty pounds. I put a lot of it back on. I started exercising. I kinda stopped exercising.
I wrote seven drafts of three different novels. I wrote four drafts of the same novella. I sold five short stories. I was invited to two anthologies. Invited! Me!
I had a beautiful baby girl.
I made that last one up. Never happened.
I reconnected with all of my brothers after several years.
I killed a bear with my hands.
Made that one up, too.
I had a lot of sex. Sometimes with a partner!
I ate both scallops and mussels for the first time, and I loved the hell out of both of them.
I broke a lawn mower (actually, we don’t know who broke the lawn mower, but we assume it was me).
I did not, at any time, wash my car. I did, however, get a tape stuck in the tape player. All class, baby!
I didn’t kiss Shawna nearly enough for my own liking.
I’ll fix that, though!
So here’s to 31. Raise a glass and give us a toast. It’s gonna be a fun ride!