It’s a little after midnight, which means it’s my birthday. I would say “fucking hell, I’m 34” but if I tell the truth I’d kinda thought I was already 34 last year. Haven’t really marked the years since I turned thirty. A year is a year is a year. Hardly like I’m old enough that I’m counting the days to retirement.
But yeah. Thought I’d mark it. In lieu of a real point, some light music.
Well, it isn’t yet. It’s about half ten as I’m writing this, but I’m not going to post it until a bit after midnight. ↩
A sentiment for which most of my coworkers and co-drinkers will scoff and say “bairn”, but still. ↩
Common wisdom holds that those of my age and generation won’t ever retire. Our brain-scans will be downloaded into immortal robot bodies, so that we may work forever. According to this wisdom, I’m just forty years off being Bender. ↩