You all remember the song, right? “When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…”

The good news is that my hair is fine. The bad news is that it’s not many years. It’s not years at all. It’s two. fucking. days.

DAYS.

How the hell did that happen? I’m pretty sure that I was thirty-four only last week. Okay, maybe a few months ago. Certainly not thirty whole years.

But, there it is. The calendar presumably does not lie. So the real question needs to be this: is this the year I get off my ass, gather up the tens of thousands of words that I’ve written, and finally unleash them on the world, fully cognizant of the fact that the world might just spit them back?

Stay tuned.

Molly, sharing my pain