Apparently, by the title of this post, I have no reverance for the Beatles. And I don't. Sure, I understand their place in history, blah, blah. I just have never been a big fan of them. Not together. Not separate. That doesn't mean that the occasional song didn't get my toes tapping. Specifically, I have fond memories of Paul McCartney's effort sometime around 1979. Something about an egg. That's all I can remember about the album title. Oh yeah, Back To The Egg. I remember it because it was getting a lot of airplay at that time and the girl (yes, female) I was dating at the time, liked one of the songs from it. Now that I think of it, "Arrow Through Me" was one and I think it was, "Getting Closer" being the other. Anyway, I liked them. It's funny about memories, or at least mine, I enjoy reliving them. Sure, some sucked, some were embarassing, and some were downright painful, but I try to look at them all as a whole. And I like my past. It has character and it's certainly interesting. As a writer, it's an invaluable source of inspiration for future stories.
In approximately two months, I'll be 48 years old. The only thing I'm hanging on to is that at least I'm still in my forties. I feel exceptionally immature to be this old, but that didn't stop MJ, however, money does help. I'm a little sad that my forties were "lost" to me through sickness, brain issues, etc. However, I should look at it as coming out the other end, intact and well, and ready to take on my fifties. Besides, isn't fifty the new forty?