Thursday, June 18, 2015


My birthday is coming up on Saturday. I've been listening to Seinabo Sey's Younger on repeat this week.

You know you ain't getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?

No, Seinabo. I ain't.

I'm going to be 28.


28 is so young. I look at those numbers and I think, "I'm just a baby girl. Look at all this life ahead of me like the view of Saskatchewan farmland from the top of a grain elevator! Endless opportunities! Such possibility, such promise! So much wheat!" (In this analogy, wheat is time.)

But the thing about 28, really, is that 28 seems to me to be the lip of a cliff. The drop-off isn't even all that steep, but it's the tipping point. You're running through the ages, really carefree about it, because old age is a million years away and you have all the time in the world, and all of a sudden you're not running anymore; you're falling. You're falling down the side of the hill.

29 is the shallow, gravelly incline that delivers you, unscathed but a tiny bit shaken, to 30.

30 is an old stump sticking out the side of the hill like a bone out of a broken arm. It catches you on your way down and tears at your skin.

31 is a resting place. You think you're done falling. You think, I've survived! I'm okay! 

32 and 33 and 34 let you sit there, because they're kind years, I've heard.

But then 35 steals the coat off your back and when you go to chase it, you realize it's an ambush! 36 runs up behind you and kicks you in the bum! You go careening once more down the mountain; your face and body are scratched and scarred by the rocks and sticks that are 37, 38, and 39.

And then, just like that, 40.

How long does it take to fall down a hill? Like ten minutes? If it's a really big hill?

What I'm trying to say is: in two days I'm going to be 28, but in ten minutes, I'm going to be 40.

Which means that in twenty minutes, I'll be 80...

...which means I'll get the senior's discount at almost any restaurant I choose to go to to celebrate my birthday on Saturday.