I'm 38. Please Don't Hit Me With A Bus.

Today's my 38th birthday. Yay me. When I was a teenager we had a running joke and I have no idea how it came about. We used to joke that I was going to die when I was 38 years old. Cause of death: Hit by a bus. Not that anything else I predicted ever came true, but I've got one of those gnawing feelings. I don't believe that I can see the future or anything. What I do believe is that the more evil parts of my mind may work to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I may be standing on a sidewalk, unsuspecting, when a bus turns onto the street I'm on and my id grabs control of my skull for the second that it would take, and say, "Fuck it, let's show 'em I was right," and I throw myself in front of the bus. The end. For this reason, I'll be trying extra hard to avoid buses over the next twelve months. Most people might not reach the age of 39 with a sense of relief. I certainly will.

I hope.