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It’s August and in 23 days I will no longer be allowed to use the excuse «well, that was in my 20s…» for any and every one of my poor choices.
In 23 days I will seriously consider just letting my hair go gray, pour myself a glass of tequila and wave at 29 as it slips on out the back door and out into the home pasture, taking my youth with it as it goes on its merry way.
So, yes, it’s official, I couldn’t stay 26 forever.
26 was my ideal age. Have I told you that? I don’t even know what I was doing then, probably broke in Missoula, MT climbing a mountain or contemplating just letting…
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