
Age 30 – The New Yorker? Really?
Today I turn 37.
37. . .holy crap. I guess I didn’t pay attention the last couple of years because they have flown by pretty quickly. Admittedly, there were a few years that couldn’t get over or be forgotten about quick enough. But come on, I swear I was like 31 just a little while ago.
37 is also a horrific year in celebrity deaths. It’s not like there was any cool drug overdoses of legends or other ways that people were “taken way too young.” At age 37, some serious stuff when wrong.
- Lou Gehrig died of ALS.
- Vincent Van Gogh shot and killed himself.
- Christa McAuliffe died in the Challenger explosion.
Pardon me while I stare blank faced at my computer for 10 minutes thinking of the horrific ways I might die if I go this year. . . WOW. That was fun. Where’s my birthday party hat and candles? Continue reading