OK. I lied. I'm writing about my birthday today. My narcissism knows no bounds.
I'm 39 today. A pup to some, a grandpa to others. It's a big year for me. They say you discover yourself in your 20s, and define yourself in your 30s. I have one more year to define myself.
There are a lot of things I thought I would have accomplished by now; being a published fiction author not the least of them. Fame, fortune, glory. They seem to have eluded me this decade. But I have one more year. One more year to do the things I set out to do.
The question, as it has been for nine years, however, is when?
My time is running out. It's time for me to make time for me.
Keep writing,
j
happy birthday. again. and you keep writing. it will happen.
ReplyDeletethe only thing stopping you is you. Sleep is overrated. Get it done.
ReplyDelete*backs out quickly, avoiding the swing.*
From my great vantage point of 73 years, Jeff, I say that time is definitely not running out. It may just be beginning to run out for me, but hopefully you've got a multitude of good hours left in you.
ReplyDeleteSo get going, Sonny. BTW I do like men by the name of Allen/Allan/etc.
if time is running out for you, Betty, it's just because a bear is chasing you.
ReplyDeleteOk, well really, that bear appears to have the hots for you. Can't say I blame him.
Now, what Betty said: get going, Sonnny!
Fielders don't get a lot of years. I hope to change that, but if I don't, I have to make the most of the ones I have. Time to get back to work. Thanks, everyone for stopping by.
ReplyDelete