I'm turning 28

Picture me in a hat, one of those pointy number that resemble horns. Picture me with in a horn-y birthday hat with one of those birthday kazoo things with the frill, with the paper tongue that unfurl when you blow into it.

Picture me with all that festive accouterments, alone in my room, on the verge of 28, drinking a fairly warm PBR as I listen to maybe the saddest song I've ever heard. (Its Grey Matter by Marti, I don't know what the fuck a Marti is but soundcloud figured I needed to hear it. I was listening to this Rhea Carter's new song at first, Rhea Carter used to have a crush on me in college. Drake and I could have been eskimo brothers. Two ships in the night.)

My birthday is in 3 hours. I'll be 28, what a thoroughly unsexy age. Just when I was getting used to saying 27, can I fake my age? Like an actor does? Not that it would matter.

What have I really done with this life? Where am I? My friends, my family, we are all marching head first to the bone yard. What have I done with these 28 years, besides make enemies and dole out complexes?

I clipped my toes nails. I beat Dom in Marvel Vs Capcom. I used to have a garden, but all the tomatoes got stolen. I'd water it, I take joy in watering plants. I take joy in looking at green I've grown. Maybe I was Radagast in a past life. Maybe I'll be Radagast in the future.

I'm turning 28 alone in my room with sad soundcloud artists and warm PBR.

I have work tomorrow. I won't be a new man, I'll just be a little more annoyed. I'm turning 28 and I've never wanted to stop the clock so bad.

I have so many things I've yet to do.

Off to the bone yard.
The bone yard sounds like a strip club for skeletons.