Today I turn 59. To be honest, I feel better than I did at 39 when I was pretty much a hot mess, smoking and drinking to excess, a second marriage falling apart, no new publishing contracts coming in, and just generally feeling sorry for myself. Sure, I was working out all the time but then I would ruin it all at night when I popped the top and smoked the shit out of a pack of butts. That person is not me anymore, I'm happy to say. Ironically, he's dead and gone.