Life Under the Stairs

And I feel old. My birthdays don’t make me feel old anymore. I’m not sure they ever really did. For most of the time that I was growing up, my birthdays made me feel really young because I was the youngest person in my class. Now they don’t change much of anything for me, but when my son has his birthday I’m brought face to face with the crushing reality that I am in fact old enough to have a 6 year old and that my life as a young adult is effectively over. That was assuming that I ever really had a life as a young adult in the first place. And so it goes, on and on, creeps on life’s petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.