I turned 40 Saturday. It really freaked me out. I never cared about birthdays before. Hell, I can't even remember a big stretch of birthdays from my 20s on, and not even in a "brah, I was so wasted" way. My parents would call, I got some presents, probably went to work, ate some cake and forgot about it.
But 40. 40 was messing me up. For about two weeks before I'd wake up in the middle of the night with a stomach ache from nighttime worries that would jolt me awake but I couldn't remember. A lot of them were tied in to the fact that I just sort of assumed I would have accomplished a lot more by the time I hit 40. Or you know, accomplished something by now.
But the day came and I felt OK. The girlfriend went all out on the surprises, we went out to eat with a bunch of people, I got some nice gifts in the mail, and thanks to the facebook, people sent messages and whatnot. I think I'm feeling OK about the whole thing now, but who the hell knows.
Now all you kids get off my damn lawn. And you're not getting your frisbee back until you tell your parents.