It has suddenly hit me that I will be 40 later this year. Yes, 4-0. Damn that feels so old. I do not feel that old. I do not even look that old. People often think I am several years younger than I am. And frankly I do not mind.
But you can not argue the facts. My age will be that number in less than a half year. Not good. I hate the idea.
Even more I hate the idea of having to arrange a party to celebrate it. The actual birthday will be in the middle of the week anyway, so no partying on the actual day. So what’s the point of celebrating on the nearest weekend anyway?
It would be so different if I had a lot of friends. If I knew that the house or whatever place I choose would be filled with people I’m friends with. Now I just know that there would not be anyone. So even more, what is the point of even bothering.
I hate being this lonely. It sucks so deeply. It seems to me that everyone else has tons of friends. Everyone else throws a big party to friends when they reach 30 or 40 or whatever the age.
So I plan on doing what I have been planning all along. Or almost that. I have reserved one week in the sun for DS and me in the fall. It’s not on the exact day because of DS’s school but close enough. I’m going to spend some of my last days of an age under 40 under a palm tree. Who needs any friends anyway?