39

October 2018

I'm 39.

I still feel young. I've never been to a cocktail party, or given a speech, or owned a briefcase, or entered a strip club, made a marriage proposal, got a tattoo, bought shares or rented an allotment. Those solid, fustily glamorous adult things that one assumes will one day come naturally. I still want to be a rock musician when I grow up, though I've had to put that on hold for a while. You see, there are bits of adulting I've been unable to avoid, like having children, a house, a mortgage, a garden that needs tending, a car that needs servicing, and an office job where I drink coffee and wear an inconspicuous shirt.

So maybe it's time to quit reading comics, playing computer games, and

[at this point, the neglected draft post ends, buried under a pile of life events.]