My Big Bad Belated Birthday

BIG because it's 50
BAD because it's 50!!!!!
BELATED because it was two days ago, hence the blog hiatus (sorry)...

So. I'm fifty and two days old and I don't much like it, though on the other hand, it's better to be fifty than dead, which is about the only consolation.

That said, I think I am taking it quite well considering. For instance, I agreed to take my nearly-fifty-year-old bones many miles across the Ditch to attend a party that announced the sad occasion to the world, where others prefer to slip (sneak) more painlessly into the dreaded decade that signals, without any possibility for consoling equivocation, the end of youth for good (or bad, rather).

I may not have actually been young for a long time, but somehow the words and thought of being 'in my forties' supplied me with the pleasant delusion that I was not old - despite what my sons said to the contrary - a delusion that 50 shatters beyond all shadow of a doubt. People 'in their fifties' (groan) who say they're not old and harp on about fifty being the new forty, are just plain sad, in my view, though, somehow, they're less sad today than they were, say, three days ago. I'm not sure why that is exactly.

Happy Birthday! (I've got my eyes closed upon the impending doom)

My childhood home, Frenchs Forest, Feb 6, 2016