1984
Thirty nine didn’t seem so bad. In fact, thirty nine seemed pretty decent. I had just recently come to the realization that I was old enough not to be consumed with the opinions of others, yet young enough to retain the belief that everything in the world ultimately worked out to my personal advantage. It was a nice place to be. Perhaps because I was revelling in my new-found comfort with aging, my girlfriend’s birthday gift of a psychic reading seemed a bit “odd” at best and — frankly —...