It's all about the mouse...

So 37 feels different, for some reason...and not just because I've thrown my back out and feel like some geriatric octogenarian. No, it's like being on the far side of anything; it just feels closer to...something...something ominous. Not even 40, necessarily. It's just that when I separated at 34, I was still on the near side of anything. And now, a measly three years later, when I tell people how old I am, they say, "Really? You don't look it!" As if that, somehow, is a compliment. But it's not, is it? Because what it means is, "Wow, I didn't think you were that old!" So then I'm forced to keep on insisting that I really and truly, honestly, no bullshitting, am 37, as ancient as that may seem.

And now I have a mouse in my kitchen.

It sucks being 37.