about person irresponsible...
When I turned 44, I learnt that it was the age women start their mid-life crisis. Having discovered this interesting fact, I needed to know what exactly I should do with this news.
It made for unedifying reading: In short, welcome to greater levels of anxiety, depression and south-bound boobage. Worse, I was now to be struck by a sudden and spontaneous urge to take up knitting or cross-words or other such passivity from a rocking chair I don't own. Sleeplessness and boredom loomed large. My conversations were likely to be rheumatoid in nature. My marbles were to self-propel themselves elsewhere.
And I was inclined to make rash decisions.
So I bought Fierce Fanny. On a whim. I couldn't afford the Ferrari.
I turned 45. Fierce Fanny hadn't helped me discover the meaning of life.
But then someone suggested that walking is a form of meditation. I figured I needed a very long walk.
So I bimbled from Mexico to Canada...
And now my feet hurt. At the end, I discovered I had merely gone from lost to confused.
I am about to turn 46...