At Least They're Committed

I shan’t go into detail, but to summarize my dealings and reconnections with old friends the past few months, I’ve come to realize that I’m doing simply fine, despite what my daughter would like me to believe. The occasional over imbibing, the frustration about where I’m at in life, the mental fatigue and questioning existence . . . all of it. Every one of us near my age is suffering it. And the antidepressants? Oh, yeah. Sorting through my close friends, every one of us is on anti-anxiety medication. It’s called having yours, your family’s and your workplace’s reputation on the line. It’s called survival.

That said, I feel a little bit better about things! If we survive this — and some of us won’t and that’s OK — we might be stronger or more content or even (GASP) happy! Well, it could happen, right? Sure, I’m going through mid-life crisis. Cripe! I’m hoping it’s two-thirds life crisis. For me, I’m hoping to buy a truck. Watch out world! Going to toss my boxer mix in the side seat and we’re going touring!