Another year older, another year closer to being old enough to shout down timid senators at Town Hall meetings. Today, I turn 27. The year where it becomes more apparent that you've past the point of no return towards 30. I joke a lot about feeling like an old man, but that's mainly just because of what a curmudgeon I've been from a way younger age than most, as well as the fact that in the words of Abe Simpson, "I used to be 'with it', but then they changed what 'it' was, and now what's 'it' seems weird and scary to me."
The excitement of birthdays kinda fade with age and after so many years and so much distance from being a kid, the thing just kinda becomes another day. I literally didn't realize my birthday was coming up until maybe a week ago. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Every year that notches up is another year I was never expected to live past my own life expectancy. Kinda puts it into an interesting perspective when you're born to having doctors tell your parents that there's a strong possibility you probably won't live past your first week alive, and then later that you won't see past eight years old. My life and my perception of mortality have been pretty skewed after growing up most of my life knowing that to this day, there's a small piece of earth in a cemetery somewhere in Georgia, between my grandmother and grandfather that's been meant for me for almost as long as I've lived, but thanks to fate (and probably more than a few advances in medical science) I'm still alive and healthier than anyone ever expected I'd be.
I know if you're reading this, you're probably taking this entire tirade as something extremely morbid, and y'know? Maybe it is, but the feeling in me right now is anything but. I have my moments of ill feelings about life in general, but lately, I'm finding less and less to complain about... Okay, that's a lie. The news has been pissing me off, the Republicans have been whining on and on like an increasingly disturbing bunch of racist babies, and summer television has been terrible as usual, and the comic industry has been going nuts, but I digress. It's 2 in the morning at present, and while my birthday is technically past, I can't help but feeling that while life ain't quite the grandest, it's heading towards something that I can finally be truly proud of. Love Buzz is finished and on schedule for a release very soon, I've got a couple of other projects quickly progressing, and I'm feeling like a real writer again for the first time in forever, after an embarrassingly long creative lull period.
But now I'm back. I'm feeling better and more invigorated about this asinine career choice of mine, and luckily the world is giving my poisoned pen more than enough ammunition to keep me fighting another day. Ever maintaining my own special blend of optimistic pessimism. I'm living to spite the rules of death another day, and I'll still be here when there's nothing left but the roaches and crickets out of my own sheer stubbornness.
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