November 19th, 2016

Today is the 19th. It’s a Saturday. It’s the first Saturday of your 39th year. After today is finished you will only have 51 more Saturdays until you have your first Saturday in your forties.

This is a momentous occasion.

I hope you are drinking and partying and enjoying your very first Saturday of this era of your life. You know this will only happen once, right? You will never ever get another first Saturday of your 39th year as this Lina ever again. Maybe in a next life. Maybe you’ve already celebrated several in previous lives. But this is the only time this will ever happen in this life.

Unless you believe in alternate universes. Then maybe on another plane of existence there is another Lina living a nearly identical life as you and she is currently also celebrating her first Saturday as a 39-year old. Maybe there are several.

But their lives would have to be just slightly different which means they’re not actually having the same experience as you. One of them probably really really fucking hates the fact that she’s just turned 39. Another one probably had a mistake at birth and thinks she is celebrating her first Saturday in her 38th year of life. And probably another one thinks it’s her 40th. Mistakes happen, you know. One probably eats so much junk food and is celebrating with cupcakes on top of ice cream drowned in chocolote syrup with sprinkles all over. And another one probably is only eating cardboard and drinking water (if you didn’t like beer so much, I would say this is you).

Several of them are probably not dating a certain younger person who maybe wrote this book thing. Maybe you’re not dating me because alternate you didn’t want to keep trying and trying and trying to get into my pants like you did. Maybe alternate you and I slept together on the first night and then never spoke again. Maybe alternate me never went back to Book Club or back to Toastr. Maybe alternate one of us never went to that fateful Toastr on that fateful night.

On the other hand, the rest of the alternate yous are definitely with me. Either we’re excellent friends. Or we’re neighbours. Or we’re drinking buddies. Or we’re dating but not moved in. Or we U-Hauled and moved in together two years ago and just celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary and are expecting a child but it was too much, too fast, the pressure has been crazy and now we’re bitter at each other and I spend more time with our dogs than I do with you, and you spend more time with our budgeting spreadsheet than you do with me, but it’s just too late to back out of parenting now!

Aren’t you grateful for this universe now?



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