Having reached and passed a landmark by more than one year, the fact that I suffer from a Peter Pan mentality is becoming shamefully and painfully apparent. Like a teenager, I dream of getting a nose job when really I need an eye lift. And while as a mature woman I ought to have wished for a weekend in the wine country shared with respectable friends, and myself respectably attired in the dink uniform, I preferred drinking too much and exploiting the capabilities of my new mp3 stereo system.
On the other hand, when rotten teenagers do rotten things, I am seriously annoyed. Last night some uppity punks were on the trail shooting off fireworks, and as a dutiful citizen I called the (non-emergency) police dispatch to report; hey, I am fearful of the threat to my investment, should sparks land upon my roof!
So it is no wonder that the chorus from Supertramp’s The Logical Song is stuck on replay in my mind this morning.