Spudguns!, we are 219 Days till Hallowe'en. Seems like such a small number doesn't it? When it's still seven months off.
Speaking of numbers, so last week I had a birthday. I got nothing. I had gotten up that morning with one thing on my mind. Going to the party stores in town. I wanted a balloon. Or a card, or something with my age on it. What I found was a whole lot of nothing. I don't know about where you are, but here, you had every age until you hit "30" then it was just in tens. My age was glossed over like it didn't exist. Great, like I wasn't feeling bad enough about this birthday as it was.
I've never had an issue before spouting off my age, or my height or weight for that matter. But this time, I had moments where I would just think about it and the number would get caught in my throat. My throat got dry like I'd breathed in hairspray and I would feel nearly ill.
I think it's because at this age, I still haven't achieved my real goals. I look around and see everyone else having long since met theirs. They say dreams have no expiration date, but I'm finding it harder and harder to believe.
