(41) Candles

I’ve been on this earth as a human life form for (41) years plus a day or two.  I’m likely way past halftime considering the manner in which I chose to occupy this body.  Not much I can do about that now, is there?  The negative fibers that bounce around inside think about the possibility of making a proper wooden box to lay these old bones down in someday.  The realist in me knows that I will never be put in the ground.  Just so that there is a written record of it having been said, I would prefer that my ashes be scattered into the wind or a swiftly moving body of water.  So if there is a box I should make in prep for my passing it should be a little smaller I guess. 

That’s all very morbid, no?  I don’t think I’m going anywhere but it’s a helluva thing to blow out (41) fictitious candles on an imaginary cake that no one baked for you on your birthday.  That’s a bed of my own making, yes; but that doesn’t make it suck less. I suppose it's normal to be somewhat morose around one's birthday after some point.  And yes, there has been a lot of happy in my life but I’m consumed by the void that still exists.  I’m consumed by “what if”.  At this point, I know it’s me and it always has been.  I’ve seemingly always been the one to fuck up the opportunity.  I’ve made a living doing it – hell I’ve created an empire plying my trade.  So am I shocked that at (41) + a few hours I’m alone on a Thursday morning?  Not really, I guess.     

On this night, I know what I’ve got; (2) dogs who love me and a soft bed inside of a house I love that me and the bank own.  There's obviously more to that list, but that's where I am right now.  I warm my hands on the heat of my (41) candles and know that tomorrow is a new day.  A new day and a new opportunity for me to make (41) mean something.