An awful, evil, debilitating disease.
An uncontrollable human experience.
There is no fountain of youth.
There is no magic pill.
There is no turning back the clock.
The month of my birth during some year in the 70s.
The month in which I will have to add another year to the speedometer.
The month where Texas experiences wicked storms and tornadoes.
If I never see rain again it will be too soon.
Used to look forward to them.
Now I dread them.
Since my mid-twenties, I’ve never been a big birthday person.
It’s just a reminder I am closer to 40.
A reminder that while everyone else moves on, I go to bed each night alone.
A reminder I am another year older and wonder do I have enough money for retirement?
Dear Pinot Grigio,
It’s American Bridget calling. Send a case to my doorstep. Lent is nearing the end, and I can once again consume you. And while April is a month I can’t get excited about, I need you with me. Come quickly.
To be this age again...