Thirty-Sex

It's only been a few hours but 36 is already a million times better than 35.  I don't have pink eye, I don't have a hacker's cough, I don't even have a hint of a cold.  I think this is the first time I haven't been ill on my birthday in five years, and I'm taking that as a sign of good things to come.

Thirty-dive, as I like to call it, was full of too many expectations and disappointments.  I decided in my late 20s that if I were 35 and still single I was going to take myself out in a flame of base jumping glory.  That would have happened but I was too depressed about life's disappointments to do much of anything.  But not with 36.  There are no expectations or "coulda", "shoulda", "wouldas" with 36.  It's just a number in my book. 

Thirty-dive can be summed up by one glorious experience:  you can read it in details here.  Thirty-dive was EXACTLY like being hit by a car, dragged across the parking lot, then left to die as it drove on.  So, so bad, yet ironically funny.

I am so thankful I never have to be 35 ever again. 

Welcome 36!