A whimsical day of sorts

Today I am thirty-three years and four months old. A most tender age, if you ask me. And a curious one, for if I reached the considerable age of a hundred, today I would have loved one third of my life. Funny, isn’t it?

It doesn’t seem entirely unreasonable to me to think that I will live a hundred years old: one of my grandmas passed away a couple of weeks before turning 101 and my other grandma also left us at the age of 98. Nevertheless, I am aiming for 117. One hundred and seventeen, I like the ring of it. So who knows.

Anyway, the important thing about this all is that time goes by. And quickly. So I better write and write and work and work towards achieving my goals because this might be  the only life we get to live and for me one third might already be gone.

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