I’m three months into my thirtieth year, and it’s become official: I am not aging backwards. I had briefly entertained the notion that, by some arcane feat of magic or dubious loophole in the natural law, I might merely crest the top of this thirty year timeline before slowly and gracefully falling backwards where I would begin to age in reverse, somehow growing younger and fresher as the days wound on.
Now that I’ve written that out, it does sound a little stupid. But I like to think that stranger things have happened. Case in point: the platypus. Continue reading