It is evening already, but there is only one piece of writing to my name with today’s date. Yuck. It is high time to do something about it. What could I write about, though? Nothing seems important enough. Or sufficiently interesting, for that matter. I feel almost destitute when a thought flashes through my mind: it is my birthday’s eve! And what a birthday, too. It is the retirement age in many countries still. All of a sudden, I perk up and rush to my computer. I turn it on and start banging at the keyboard. Everything is going fine until I come to the punchline. Gosh. Punchline, what punchline? My birthday’s eve is as unimportant and uninteresting as any other day. Including my very birthday, too. Sixty fucking five, boo-hoo!