At 7:42pm on 7-17-71, I began 42. 42!!!!! What a wonder of a primary pseudoperfect number. And for most, Hitchhiker’s Guide makes it the answer and catapults the number into legendary status.
41 was a tough as nails year. The worst of the job with the unrealistic hours because of 8 straight months of almost 20 hour days. My mother passed away. Hip surgery. Moving. Lawyerly things. Terrible timing with Christoph. No vacation time, mandatory bed rest, crutches and squirrels. It’s over, the old year.
42. I’m wrong. That’s my last 41 self-photo.
At work, I was sent some beautiful chocolate dipped strawberries, an angel food whipped cream frosted cake and then this little critter, a confectionery rendition of a familiar neurotic nutcase of a dog.
This dog looks like an asshole. Yep. That’s Pocky.
42. I hope it’s as fun as I imagined. I have a great need for some joy.