Turning 42

I’m kinda looking forward to being 42. First of all, I do not fear aging. It’s a privilege denied many and I’ve earned every year. Second of all, 42 is the meaning of life, the Universe, and everything, so it’s bound to be something of a magical age, right?

Okay, I kind of admit from this vantage point it’s sort of hard to see that potential.

41 was a bit of a bust.

I was hoping to do more and most of the time I barely had the energy to do the bare minimum. Like, I’ve been stuck in some ruts before, but this time I was too tired to care I was even in a rut. It’s hard to pull yourself out when you’d rather take a nap.

And while I did spent 41 giving fewer fucks, I didn’t really accomplish much else. At least I spent most of the time with either pink or blue-black hair. 41 was a bit of a drag, but I showed up.

As I said, I think 42 has the potential to be magical. What kind of magic? I don’t know. Maybe black magic. Perhaps some dark arts will be necessary to make something out of this year. I’m starting off on a sour note by not being able to take my birthday trip, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be taken eventually. Maybe all of the magic will come from finding a way to salvage things in the middle of trying circumstances once again. But the point is I should probably haul my ass out of the rut to give that magic a shot. Who knows? I might be surprised.

I mean, it’s doubtful. I’m a Capricorn, so my realism will ultimately win out. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to have a good time. Even if it’s just a new hair color.

Here’s to 42.

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