As I pensively approach the big-3-wtf-is-it-here-already?-oh, I am painfully aware that my unicorn is probably going to show up at the most inopportune fucking time. By then I will *have* 5 cats, a smothering mortgage, 2 adult children who only call for guilt or holidays, hips that could birth the Red Army, an acute fear of change... and no use for unicorns.
Top that melodrama in the first 2 paragraphs of your self-summary and I will personally buy you a bottle of Wild Turkey.
ANCIENT ARCHAIC AD:
I wasn't always like this. I used to be one of the sunshine people; a glowing vortex of love and song. I was the cinnabon-scented warmth that babies and kittens warmed their arses by in the cold Narnian winter of MODERN LIVING. Then I got addicted to Civilization II, and it all kinda went to hell.
I am sardonic, flippant, and gimcrack