twenty, thirty, forty

I’m going to be 37 in three weeks, and I haven’t quite figured out how I feel about it. This officially puts me in my late thirties now, right? What do you do when your body thinks it’s in its sixties, but your mind is still somewhere in your late twenties or early thirties?
I handled turning 30 with relative ease actually. I freaked when I turned 27. For some reason reaching my “late twenties” just sent me over the edge. (was that really a decade ago now? holy crap.)But by the time I hit 30, I had three kids, was married, and pretty settled, so it wasn’t very traumatic. The d.h. happened to be deployed for that one, so I took myself out to dinner too. 
So, now how does 37 look? Well, still married. I have been with the hubs for 12 1/2 years, married just over 11 of those. We have an 18 year old that I keep threatening kidnapping schemes to try to bring her back home, a 16 year old boy that tests my patience on a regular basis, and a 7 year old that I spend all day, every day with because we’re working our way through third grade. Some days whether she likes it or not. 
If I died tomorrow, people would notice. I have friends and family, and it’s fair to say in 37 years, I’ve made a pretty good life for myself. If C doesn’t hear from me on twitter for a few days, she sends out a tweet making sure I’m still alive and in one piece. I had a friend send me a note on FB the other day asking after me because she had noticed I was quiet lately. That feels really good! If I completely disappear offline for a day, people notice and realize that typically means something is really wrong that day. I have loved ones, and I am grateful.
But I was thinking about my house the other day and noticed that if someone were to poke around, they might wonder how old the occupant is. I have medicine bottles stashed in several different places, depending on which medicine it is and when I need to take it. I have Ensure shakes in the fridge for the days I can’t get much food down. My cane is in the front coat closet, and these days I occasionally ask the karma gods if I’m going to need to get it out soon because my hip has been bothering me. I have pain meds, nausea meds, thyroid meds, and sleep meds. It might make a person wonder. 
I always think that a person’s home tells a lot about their story. Mine says that my body thinks it’s somewhere in its sixties, but if you look through my computer, you’d see that my mind is still some where in my late twenties….maybe early thirties. I play video games, I still have all of my college papers stuck off in my documents, and I am on social networking sites goofing off. 
Do you ponder the years when your birthday comes up, spoonies? Are some years more significant than others?

Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?

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