#251

Unconsciously, Blog #250 turned out to be about my bodyfat %. Maybe that will tell you how far down on the blog-idea totem pole I am. Once again, 'tis the witching hour and my thoughts turn slowly to my neglected blog, and the inevitable sleep-deprived morning that awaits me like Death at the scene of a car crash, gleefully anticipating the escort of his next client.

My thoughts have turned recently to writing a screenplay. I am not sure why. I believe if I had to, I'd write a coming-of-age story for 30 year olds, like the Graduate 10 years later. They say that 30 is the new 20 (or at least that's what I say). I feel like old-age is stalking me. Waiting in the shadows to assail me with bouts of incontinence and memory loss and the ability to turn wistful at any mention of my glorious youth. 29 is not old to me, and nor do I feel old. In fact I have mostly the same outlook on life that I did when I was 21. Perhaps the youthful exuberance has been dimmed slightly, to a pasty shine, by previous failures and empty successes, but it is there. And while my stomach begins to emulate a flat tire, and my hair line continues to make a hasty retreat, I say fuck you to old age. You'll never get me, you bastard.

OK it really is late, and that's all I got. G'day.