One thought that I just had about turning 36 is that 3+6=9 and 9 is an inverted 6, which, when repeated 3 times, becomes 666.
What is the significance of this satanic non-sequitur?
I have an imaginary frenemy named after a multiple of 3: 9.
I didn’t play with imaginary friends as a child. Back then, all my friends were real, although I was once visited by my hamster’s ghost, briefly.
I can’t remember how 9 came about. I think he was born one day when TJ and I were joking around with one another and sometimes when we do this, we’ll lie about somebody imaginary who is vigorously bothering us and then we’ll run with this lie and make this imaginary asshole’s antics so delightful that we build an entire relationship with him or her and sometimes, we even find handwritten notes from these imaginary people in our mailbox. We have several of these imaginary frenemies. One lives in a jar and she’s a real bitch.
I don’t want to tell you too much about 9, but he does have a tail and his own page at the national registry of sex offenders. He’s always losing body parts, like a leper, and he loves to bother. People often mistake him for a non-human simian. Though he’s imaginary, TJ and I are not the only ones who interact with 9. There are others.
Something I worry about is this: when I turn 36 or when I turn 37 or when I turn 38 or when I turn 39 or when I turn 40, will my mind become a boring Jello? As I age will I become more irrelevant than I already am? As I age will I get uglier?
I feel that as I age, I look more and more like a snapping turtle and have juxtaposed a picture of myself with one so that you can see what I mean.
I actually wouldn’t mind being a turtle because I’d love to carry my bedroom on my back.
Another thought that occurs to me about turning 36 is that I have had a change in priorities. Before, when I pondered the question, “Which super power would I rather have: flight or invisibility?” I’d automatically select invisibility because of the obvious financial rewards I could reap as a thief and also the serious gossip I could score. As I mature, and become wise like the turtle, I change my mind about which super power I’d prefer. I’d prefer flight. Flight could come with equal financial rewards, especially if I was the only flying Mexican-Polish-American woman on earth, and how awesome would it be if I was the colonial woman on your wing?