[Originally published August 15,  2004]
How old do you have to be to have a midlife crisis? How old do you have to be to be old? I know I’ve felt old since I was 14. Always felt like I was falling apart and have felt a building sense of stress and dread in life every since. Every year that goes by requires the departure of more of my dreamscape. More and more the fantasies I hold are less likely to come to pass, and when I imagine myself a school teacher, or lawyer, or Hollywood assassin (hit man to the stars!), I know I am deluding myself. These ideas are no longer potential futures, but rather my day to day escapism.

Pretty sure this is one of those laughable ideas. Old at 33? I’m in the first year of my mortgage, single, mostly healthy, have interesting hobbies that fill my days, and with a somewhat rewarding job that almost pays acceptably. Yet I feel stuck, trapped, unfulfilled, old, creatively stifled, sick, lonely, like life is slipping by, and confused on adverb usage (and I’m sure it will get worse as time goes by…my feeling old, not my grammar).

I’ve had a smattering of gray in my hair since my puppy years; mother always said it was a sign of a high fever when I was a baby or somesuch other utter nonsense, but you really had to search to find the gray. Then, when I hit puberty (around 30 years ago, I think) I noticed my newly forming beard had some white hairs. Of the three or so there, one was gray! Ever since, my beard comes and goes, with the whim of my razor, with no schedule or reason I can discern, but each time it comes back, it has a few more gray hairs.

Now, don’t think me shallow and vain. I spend most my days looking like the Unibomber (proper noun, or no?), and I go large stretches of my life without the benefit of comb or scissor. I figure if I’m not actively searching out employment, I don’t need to waste time making myself presentable. My friends know me, know what kind of person I am, my employer knows I am sort of competent, and I am too addicted to bathing to become truly offensive, but I have to admit I am often scary looking, and this makes it as hard to meet women as it is to end run on sentences. I clean up well enough, but….  Why in the hell am I writing this off topic, off tangent, non sequitur bullshit?

I’m old. Freaking old. Too young to the politically incorrect ass I would like to be, but still old. “Man, if I was 20 years younger!” Aged beyond my years. Got another 30 ahead of me before I get a gold watch.

So what brings on this lamentation (besides needing something to post)? What occasion or event sparks this cry? I found a gray hair where one has never before dare appear. One solitary, freakishly long, hair in my man rug. No, not down there, you simpleton, on my chest! Hey, don’t laugh. This is serious. I plucked it, but am sure it will grow back. Probably bringing a few friends along for the torment!

I’m also 34 in a week. Maybe that has something to do with it. Got me. But it’s past my bedtime.