The October sky is overcast this morning. Leslie, the friend I've known longest, says, "Looks like someone shook the Etch-A-Sketch." I'd been thinking of gray TV static, but an Etch-A-Sketch best captures the flat loss. And the dumb uneasiness of a blank screen.
I'm 50, which isn't the same as saying I'm 50, which I've been doing all year to prepare myself for this day. Yesterday I finally decided to be 49, and that was hard because I had to squeeze the whole fucking year into a day. So now among my regrets is skipping 49. Fifty is no big deal, except now I'm thinking of 60 and then 70. It's not that I have trouble living in the moment, but the moment slides so fluidly from future to past to present. It's all over the board. Who keeps shaking the damned Etch-A-Sketch?