Old Man

What do you want to do for your birthday, she asks. I want to lay on the couch with her and the dog. Watch a high mid Hollywood movie. Like Adrian Lyne or Paul Verhoeven. An entertaining movie, not art. I want to go to bed at 10 with the dog. Then I want to die so I don’t have to go to work anymore.

But the bag I’m chasing is stay at home dad money. Not working five years, so she can have her dreams too. Write while the baby sleeps. Get him in kindergarten. Then I’ll go back to work. But not yet, not yet.

**

Good morning.

I’m still 49 years old.

I made the most of 49. It was a good year when I wasn’t working.

I hate special occasions. I hate taking stock. It feels like cope. Well here we go, I started my 40’s broke, having emergency ass surgery, obsessed with a Korean woman who was using me for sex. Using me for my physique. Dating other guys. I worked for the same guy I do now. I drove the same car. That hasn’t changed. I had put out one ebook at 39. I remember that $115 royalty check, that was a great moment. But we’re talking about my 40’s. I released The Pussy which flopped completely as I expected. It sold 221 copies in 2016. Still that’s a thousand bucks which was nothing to sneeze at back then. I had a healthier attitude. I expected no one to buy it, 221 people bought it. 220 and one copy for myself.

Now what. I turn 50 tomorrow with my asshole intact. I can take a shit without getting infected. I love Susannah, I love my dog, I love living next to the park. I love my life except my job. We were in the kitchen. She said it’s the last week of your 40s and got teary eyed. I told her it was the best decade of my life. She said how were the other ones. I said they sucked. It’s true, I was miserable in my 20’s, 30’s, my teens, I was a miserable child. Now I’m happy except for my job. Can I finish this post or will my boss text me.

How will my fifties be. I’m sure I’ll get horrible cancer and die. In prison after being arrested for shit I wrote about in my books. I’ll cause Susannah’s death as well and the dog’s death, and have to watch them die in front of me. I’ll get her pregnant and fuck it up somehow, I’ll leave out a banana peel she slips on and loses the baby and drop a single grape that kills the dog horribly with tubes coming out of her, etc. 2016 was the worst year of my life.

Well, shit does not go in ten year cycles. Everything’s random. I get checked for cancer every five minutes. I don’t smoke don’t drink etc. I eat fiber.

I look like shit but she has terrible eyesight. When you can’t see a person’s face you create the best case scenario. I still have superb eyesight. She is perfect, beautiful. I get to be with her every day and I’ve maxed out being in the present and enjoying it.

Except for my job.

The big regret. Working all those years. I did save all the money. I could quit. I might make [REDACTED] dollars though. They have us by the balls now. They can pull this deliverable forward, the reward for work more work, I know we’re feeling overextended this is just an important new opportunity blah blah blah.

You try to think about the past, you get pulled into the grim present of working. I should be grateful but I should also have a 9 inch dick. I hate it. But who knows maybe I’ll get [REDACTED] dollars. Probably I’ll get like [REDACTED] net which is fine. I’m just done after this, just done.

I hate special occasions, deadlines, the last day of my 40s, etc. Life is good on a random Tuesday. I don’t like forcing the memory. I remember at all times. I remember a leaf I saw in seventh grade.