In a little over an hour I will be 39. I suppose strictly speaking, it might be later as it is unlikely that I am a midnight child, but we'll observe the usual alignment of the anniversary. There are precedents for people approaching forty to have lists of things they need to do before that milestone (millstone?), so why not.

Things to do before I'm forty:

1. Read the big books: Finish reading Ulysses. I was annoyed that I flaked half way through, especially when there was a decent discussion to be had over at TUS. But I will finish it. I will. The other book that has been lying on the bed side table for far too long is The Brothers Karamazov. I bought this about five years ago. It's about time I actually opened it. I'll read other things too, but I'd like to get these under my belt.
2. Swim four lengths: I can't swim one at the moment. I'd like to be able to swim, as I'd like to do some messing about in boats and swimming is useful in this. Also nice in its own right.
3. Play Guitar: Learn four songs off White Blood Cells note perfect. Which four? Not sure. We're Going To Be Friends will be one anyway.
4. Play Piano: Learn all the tunes in the Easy Irish Music for Piano book I have. Irish music on the piano works really well, I think. Nice and simple for novices like me.
5. Get on my bike: My brother asked me to cycle with him from my house to his and back again -- a round trip of over a hundred miles. Given that I'm the youngest in the family, I can't use age as an excuse so I may have to do it. In any case, I'm far too sedentary these days and to be able to cycle any distance at all would be an improvement. I'll think of a definite target later. I'm looking at a toe clip lying on the floor that I should have put back on the bike yonks ago.

I can't think of any more. At least none that are definite goals as opposed to aspirational waffling. Learn Spanish. Be happy.

Getting older depresses me. It's not so much that I'm going to die, or anything, it's just that I can remember being twenty three and hating the same things about myself as I do now. And sixteen years later I haven't done anything about any of them. Lethargy. One of my failings. The life expectancy of an Irish male is 73, but while I've only just passed the middle, I'm confident that the next thirty four years will go faster than the last.

Miserable bugger. Someone once said that my ideal job would be pessimist laureate.

Oh look, it's midnight. Happy birthday to me.