That's right. The hours of my 39-ness are counting down to their end.
Actually, I wasn't really 39 this last year. I mean, I almost never said it. Mostly I said "I'm almost 40" because, somehow, that seemed younger than 39.
Standing at 40 and looking around, it doesn't look anything like what I thought it would look like when I was 20. Of course, in retrospect, 20 didn't really look like what I thought it looked like, either.
There's gonna be a party with cake and presents and really bad jokes. I have to do some panic cleaning (the only way I really get cleaning done these days, it seems) and then...I'll be 40 and 50 will be here before I've even got my hair on straight.
I guess one of the real problems is that inside me, looking out and worrying about surprise attacks from clowns, is the 7 year old I was. There's also the 19 year old, the 25 year old, the 32 year old -- they are all in there. Everything I know and think comes from this crowd of previous mes.
Feh. I hope there is a lot of chocolate cake.