Thirty-Nine

I’ll be thirty-nine next month. THIRTY-NINE. Wow. Honestly, I never thought I would make it this far. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. Heart disease and addiction run in my family, now mix in my mental health and you have a ticking time bomb. But here I am. Here… I … Am. Now what? I’m just supposed to live, laugh, love for another fifty or sixty years? It’s weird, I am both the happiest and saddest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m like an Arnold Palmer of emotions.

Thirty-nine. I have less hair on my head, more fat on my body and sometimes my right knee will just give out without warning. Other than that, everything else is about the same.

Thirty-nine. Wow. You know, when I was in high school my plan was to be famous by the age of twenty-five. I wanted to be on television and in movies. I started doing stand-up at nineteen, I had to wear a paper bracelet like a mental patient and promise not to drink in order to be let into the comedy club. A child among wolves, monsters and boogie men. Staying out late and talking filthy to strangers. That was how I spent most of my nights when I was young. I grew up in a town too small to dream big so eventually I had to leave. It broke my mother’s heart. Wayne’s too. In hindsight, I have to ask; was it worth it? Did I leave too soon? I wish I would have known my time was limited with them. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. We’re all selfish when we’re young. I would like to think that I would have stayed and spent more time with them, but who knows, I haven’t always been the best son, friend, boyfriend or even law abiding citizen. Then again, you can’t judge a person by their past or who they used to be. You have to give them the opportunity to show you who they are now. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I’m still not all that great now.

Thirty-nine. It doesn’t even seem like a real number. I guess it’s not yet. I mean it is a number, technically but what is thirty-nine, really? There is nothing attached to it. It’s an in-between, a pit stop. Somewhere to piss on my drive to forty and man, do I need to piss. I feel like after you turn thirty-five, every year you tag on after that is the number of times you have to get up in the middle of night to pee. By sixty, you don’t even sleep, you just doze off watching American Idol after dinner and pray you don’t wake up wet.

Thirty-nine. My father died when he was forty-six. I think about that a lot. Too much, probably. I wonder if I’ll make it to forty-six? How many chapters are left in my book? How many lessons are left to learn? How did my father feel when he turned forty? I wonder how different he would have been if he knew he only had a few years left after that. They say to live everyday like it’s your last. How dumb. I don’t know about you but I’d be broke, and more than likely contracted a sexually transmitted disease. Imagine giving everything you got to a random Thursday, then having to live another sixty years with your apocalyptic decisions? Fuck that.

Thirty-nine. I don’t own a home. Honestly, I’m kind of a nomad. I move around like I’m getting re-stationed every few years by the military. Whenever I get comfortable, I find myself renting a U-Haul and ponying up some dough for a new deposit. I can’t tell you how many couches I’ve owned in my life. None of them were that comfortable to be honest. I’ve been in motion my whole life. When I was in my twenties I thought it came off as attractive and intriguing, now I just look unstable. Most of my friends I grew up with own homes, have multiple children and good paying jobs. Meanwhile, I’m hitchhiking across the globe with a lottery ticket in my pocket. Maybe it’s expired by now. That’s one of my biggest fears. They call my winning numbers but I’m too old to collect.

Thirty-nine. Fuck. What now?

Thirty-nine.

Thirty-nine.

Thirty-nine. I hope it’s a nice place to take a piss at least. You know, one of those gas stations that has a McDonalds on the inside and a code on the bathroom door. I want to take my time. Look around a little. Fuck, I might even buy a t-shirt. Something corny like a cartoon animal wearing a dress with a funny state fact on it or maybe one that says, “I’m with stupid” with an arrow pointing up to my own face.

Thirty-nine… I never thought I would see it… but here I am… here… I … am.