Happy Birthday to me…

So, here I be, 54 and counting. According to my family’s average, I have around 6 good years left. Everyone seems to have either died at 60-ish or made it to well over 80. I’m going for option two.
Or so I hope.
Why? I’ve accomplished quite a lot in my humble life. I’m still waiting for a published book, but other than that, most of my life goals have been met.
The only problem is that the longer I live, the more I want of it. My kids are now fascinating adults – I find myself stretching to keep up with their intellectual capacities. They have charming companions, who I enjoy tremendously and adore.
Late in life, I’ve met the perfect man for me – kind, loving, attentive and totally sweet. He makes me wish I could read romances without snorting.
Now, if only I could manage my pain. Ever since I heard that over half our support group didn’t have pain with their MS I have felt positively bitter that I have it. I want to trade my MS in for a less annoying version. But then I don’t know what that would look like. And it might be worse.
In any case, I do feel grateful. For the years I’ve lived, the experiences I’ve had, the wonderful people I’ve had the chance to know, the places I’ve seen.
Anything further is just gravy.
But I do like gravy…