Now I am 48, still out of date....

Now I am 48.

People (they know who they are) ask me how it feels to be 48.
I tell them I haven't felt like I was 60 in a long time.
I get a nervous laugh, a chuckle and they shake their heads.
I don't get along with my brother.
I never did.
Even when I thought I was getting along with him, I wasn't.
Why bring this up now?
On your birthday, for Pete sakes!
Crikey.
It's obvious to me.
48 is a number like 50. I don't give it much credence. 
I am 48, I don't get along with my brother, I have a weird relationship with my father, I take care of my mother (more than I ever thought I would) and my best friend is also my niece.... also my other best friend is wonderful and doesn't get much credit as to how much I truly love her.
Okay, I admit it.
That's not my point.
I don't get along with my brother because despite all my intentions to be someone else where the world is concerned I don't get along with my brother, we are alike and utterly un-alike and it makes no sense to anyone...especially me. Sometimes I say:
"This explains everything!"
Then I am forced to admit it didn't explain anything but what I wanted it to explain.
I don't know my brother.
I have tried and quit and inevitably will most likely try again, except I am getting to old for this:

So, I am 48 and too old for- well you get the point of that, now.
Moving on.
Actually, I am doing swell.
Except that I am still alone.
Working out, eating healthy stuff, living in a perpetual daydream that is so self-congratulatory and self-pleasing- the ego massaging kind that I now call it my happy place.
Hi, I am Michael Wilder. 
I have three wives.
(I warned you)

I will stop there save to say I am on new meds.
I feel good most of the time.
I don't need Bob's tits anymore.

 If I need to explain this, you probably just wandered into my life and miss most of my movie references.
(fight club, bob (meatloaf) Deadpool, movie references) or just forget it.
pretend I am cooking and this is the food network.

So, I digress.
I am 48.
A poet, future tango dancer, hopeful romancer.
Likeliest to die alone in an empty cafe in Vienna full of figurative bullet-holes.
Now, you can be lost and give me that look.

and you won't be alone. Most of my family just shrug, make a nervous laugh and check their collective cell phones while silently wishing that the "old mike" would come back and then we could talk about that time I got kicked in the teeth.
Look, I tinker, I fix stuff, all that convenient lock picking, console hacking, raider shooting stuff 
just ain't for me....

and that is the first day of 48 according to Mike.