It’s that time of the month (ha!), that time of the year, when my birthday inspires all the whiny introspection and soul-searching that predicated most of adolescence and early adulthood and which I both desperately want to shed and continually romanticize in places such as this.

Now that the run-on sentence is out of the way, the bitching can commence.

• I’m the guy who got a snazzy digital SLR and a poseur moleskine notebook for his 30th birthday.
• I have two children and no novel to my name.
• Unlike the Theme from Flood, water levels are going down.
• I’m not losing enough weight, not gaining enough muscle and generally not looking the way I want to look.
• The Dawgs are sucking it up like they did last year

My only solace, apart from the mechanical running list above, is the cool weather. Someone behind cold(er) while having these chilling thoughts is a comfort.

It’s Autumn. I’m having another birthday. Things suck (at least inside my own head).

More of the same.

Less sadness tomorrow.