34th Birthday Musings

It's birthday time for yours truly. So I guess that calls for some mutterings, the more unstructured the better:

34 is a fairly non-descript number, isn’t it? I really can’t think of anything notable related to it.

In years past, the onset of your mid-thirties meant the onset of middle age. Nowadays, with life expectancies edging upward into eight and nine decades, I guess that's a bit premature. Just as well, as I still feel a good bit immature.

The drift out of my twenties is, I think, pretty well complete now.

Is it too late to go to law school?

Is it too late to go to canine dental school?

Is it too late to run away and join the circus?

Fact is, it’s probably not too late for anything, really. But it certainly feels that way, sometimes.

In spite of the fact that a huge box of Mike & Ike candy from my coworkers is a great present, and in spite of the fact that is say in large letters on the box that it is a fat free candy, it still can't be good for my girlish figure.

I hate getting a birthday card with glitter on it. It gets all over my desk and my hands, and eventually my face.