I’ll be 51 on the 22nd. Turning 50 was amusing, novel. The prospect of becoming 51 just feels old. It doesn’t help that the weather these last four days has been a perpetual dusk. It’s been gloomy and rainy where noon looks like twilight. I imagine it being like this in Alaska. Constant chill in measureless days, only suitable for vampires and for people aged 51 and older.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping (as old people are prone to do) and I’ve installed an app on my phone that’s supposed to help. It filters out the blue light emitting from my phone that’s supposed to interfere with my cicada (I know that’s not the word but I’m too lazy to look up the right word) rhythm so I stay wired and unable to sleep. The filter on  this app kicks in at 4:30 pm and is still running now as I type at 6:45 am. Why? Because there’s no freakin’ sun, that’s why.

There’s a reason why we put artificial lights on anything that’s stationary this time of year, and put candles all over the place. Our inner cicadas demand it. My cicada is turning 51. Unbelievable!