Fifty Three

This year, against every effort by the universe, I turned 53. It happened a couple of days ago in fact and I’ve been a little melancholy about the entire experience ever since. Granted, I’ve been living in melancholia for quite some time, but this one seemed pretty melancholic in particular. (By the way, today’s word is melancholia.)

Let me first say-I had a really good day. My family took me to an escape room which was way fun-also Sasquatch themed! It was a first for all of us and it was really immersive and fun. We however, didn’t escape and became Bigfoot chow.

Please notice the ‘gazer’ my oldest kid is doing…

Then we had some post Bigfoot death dinner and the birthday cake stuff which was Pittsburgh Burnt Almond Torte and some badass Carrot Cake! I had a small sliver of each.

(Two days later however, I absolutely fucking housed the rest of the Burnt Almond Torte. Then I took a nap.)

Melancholy?

Yeah.

Fifty Three.

It looks worse spelled out. Know what’s worse than that though?! This-

Yeah. I’m Herbie.

At first I thought I was bummed because I’m 53 which really, isn’t true. I’m bummed about everything it took to continue to still be here. Not in a “Why am I still alive” sense but in a “Holy shit, I’m still here after all of that crap.”

It’s surprising, I’m at the age where it’s really a gauntlet to see who else I’ve outlived and that in and of itself is spooky. By rights, I should already be on the heap. I smoked from the time I was 15, around 1986 until 2019 (33 years.) I have always had high blood pressure and a heart murmur which as it turns out, sorta kinda did need to be looked at in spite of what my doctors said at the time.

The last five years or so has been a jarring punch in the ass in that I quit smoking in 2019, I got into really good healthy shape and was absolutely kicking ass.

Five years ago was when people started to die and I snapped to attention.

I’m still here, still at attention, although the pandemic was another punch in the ass. (I know ass punch is weird. Just ride with it.) There’s the weight gain and the heart surgery and the knee arthritis…it’s enough to be infuriating. Especially the arthritis…can I bitch about this for a second? It’s in one knee. Not both, just fucking one knee.

What kind of half ass bullshit is that? The left knee just makes crunchy sounds and the right one is just gonna hurt?!?

I digress.

It’s normal to get old, it’s normal to feel old and it’s normal to bitch about it. What isn’t normal is for me is normalcy that I don’t bitch about anymore -but don’t disregard the above rant. If I’ve learned anything for all the lousy health and other people dying events, I have learned to not be miserable.

Sort of.

I allow myself a small amount of time to get totally furious about something (and even less time) if it’s something that I can’t change.

And if I can’t change something, I’m not going to wring myself out.

Getting super pissed off accomplishes nothing except high blood pressure, heart issues, stress and…oh wait-already covered!

I don’t need anymore wasted breath on being angry at things and people I cannot change. I’m fifty three. I don’t have the time to waste. I don’t have the bandwidth. What I do have is patience and a family that loves me and tolerates me. (I am very aware that I am someone to be tolerated. Like a flood zone.)

Crack!

Did you hear that?

Was that my knee?!

Maybe.

But I’m okay with it.

Kinda…