Get me a Zoloft...

I got slapped with something very depressing this morning while having coffee with my fathah. We were just chatting along, and I found myself excited to tell him how I made my last tasty batch of tuna salad. That's not the depressing part. The depressing part is that it was the third time since I made it on Wednesday that I told someone about it in an excited manner. I realized this depressing fact as I said it, but that didn't stop me from getting all excited to tell it again when my mom came downstairs. I used to be so much fun, crazy even. Now, here I sit, a shell of my former fun self, getting all geeked to talk about tuna salad and the ins and outs of a good batch. If this is what it means to be almost 32, you can shove it where the tuna don't shine!