Sometimes the days seem to have little or no direction for me. Turning 40 seemed to take away all those miniscule chances of becoming whoever or whatever my mind had felt was a pathway to a better me over my adult years to this point. Almost finding the perfect midlife crisis to accompany me on my futile journey now seemed the best option and the best way forward at this stage of my life. Becoming a dad for the second time, 18 years after my first with a previous partner has now given me a lot of meaning and helped focus my brittle rickety ship toward the new older middle aged dad path. Arthiritic thumb and all, baby must be thrown pretend like into the air and caught in a fit of neverending giggles. Baby don’t care, baby certainly won’t care about a balding middle aged dad with a bad back and an almost unhealthy yearning to catalogue his music collection as an evening of fun. Baby just wants a dad. That’s what I am though, a dad. And in case my wife ever reads this, a loyal husband too.
That was a bit of background for the reader as I write about my anxiety as an online journal blog type thing, a cathartic expose rag mag view on my normal life as I trundle along searching, neverending.
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton