A wise man once said, "Every day above ground is a good day." That wise man may or may not have been my uncle Frank.
(Honestly, I have no idea who said that. It could've been him; he's been known to snap off a profound statement now and again. Then again, he had surgery for lung cancer and kept right on smoking, so you may want to doubt his capacity for logic and reason.)
It's a good notion, though; a solid way of looking at the world. Even if things don't quite turn out your way, what's the alternative? You're in the cold ground, someone else is nailing your wife, and some raccoon is probably taking a dump on your tombstone.
I turned 34 today. This means I'm solidly in my mid-30s. Y'know what, though? I'm fine with that. I really am. I mean, sure, I haven't got the whole romance thing locked up yet, I still haven't written the Great American Novel, and to this day I get my ass thoroughly kicked every time I play Scrabble.* But other than those little wrinkles, I think I'm doing fine overall.
Yep, your ol' pal J is doing alright, thankyouverymuch.
(Seriously, thank you for reading all my inane posts over the years. This thing has been going since the fall of 2004, when I was but a young buck, a graduate student chasing a dream of being a rockstar astronaut. Now that I am one, all I can say is that playing a the "Freebird" solo on the International Space Station was pretty damn amazing.)
* I'm not entirely sure if this is true, seeing as I haven't played Scrabble in about a decade. But I assume it to be true.