Muddle Age? That's a typo, right?
No.
OMG. What could that be? Did you read it on WebMD?
No. I made it up. But it's real, man.
It's when you double your age and realize, "Aw crap. No way. I'm not going to live that long."
For me, it's 94. No matter how organic my food, or how awesome my downward dog, it ain't gonna happen.
I live to write humorous posts (humourous for my Canadian/British friends; humerus for my pre-med). And it's not like I just stopped laughing, but I've been to five viewings/funerals in a span of eight months, and it kind of kills the buzz. Repeatedly.
In my mid-twenties, all my friends were getting married. In my mid-thirties, all my friends were having babies. In my early forties, it was mid-life. And now in my *mumble* *ahem* *cough* not-early forties, my friends are losing their parents. Luckily, mine are doing well in the blue/silver/beet-haired mecca we call Florida.
Don't get me wrong. I'm blessed to be here, to have known all of these people, and to still have my parents. But it's been kind of crazy, and I'm really hoping it's not a pattern. Not another "I'm at that age..." And laughing at Snuggies, idiot politicians or Family Guy just hasn't done the trick.
But the fact the term "muddle age" hit me when I was brooding about my writing hiatus inspires me, whether it's my own ability to persevere and think up goofy shit, or a little divine intervention giving me the nudge I've been pining for. Or maybe I overheard it.
But I just blogged about it.
♬ Bang your head / Muddle health will drive you mad ♬
Muddle on, fothermucker. Muddle on.
