My back-porch garden is growing.
It is most excellent.
The older I get, the more I start to take pleasure in the little things again. The little things add up.
One of the cab drivers in Indy asked me if I was 22 or 23, because I looked “too young” to have a Master’s degree.
“Twenty-six,” I said.
“Uh. Oh,” he said.
I do *not* look 22, dude.
I suppose I will look old and wise soon enough. No sense rushing it.
Also, as a side note: Indiana drivers are all fucking incompetent. They drive on flat, straight freeways and still manage to get into more accidents than anybody in any city I’ve been in outside Durban.