I’ve never been big on the whole birthday thing but, much to my surprise, hitting the seven decade mark was kind of nice.
Sure, I’ll admit that it solidifies the fact that I’ve achieved permanent Old-Fart status but it carries with it the fact that I simply no longer have any fucks to give and in these seriously fucked up times, that’s no bad thing. For instance, yesterday I did not listen to much in the way of news and I did not feel guilty at all. Call it a liberation of sorts.
That said, I do find the adage on one of my T-shirts of “It’s so weird being the same age as old people” surprisingly accurate. I often find myself looking at “old guys” who are twenty or so years younger than I am.
As it happens, I spent my birthday removing hardware and the past-it’s-sell-by-date turtle from the Islander’s deck and made what seemed like a gazillion holes for the rain to get through. I spent the next day drilling out those holes so I could fill them with epoxy. Good thing, as this morning it’s raining and not a drop is coming through the deck.
I’m told by the US Mail application that the (hopefully) last needful bit for the Yanmar is set to arrive tomorrow so (hopefully) I’ll be able to take the engine off the must-do list.
Today, the job up next is a table for the salon as the old too-clever-by-half folding hideaway table is now in landfill so we need to sort out something a bit more practical.
So it goes…