47

FWIW, nobody gives a damn about 47. Just an FYI. But that’s OK. Because a friend is celebrating her somethingth and I’m flying out to SFO for the occasion later this month. AFK. BBIAB.

On 44

Every day I’m dying, figuratively speaking. Ossifying. I’d like to think that I’m a vivacious operative of my own destiny, but that’s not exactly the case. If you don’t know what to make of that, you’re not 44. It does me no service to look back and see where I may have gone wrong, or […]