In the middle of eating, looking out over Lake Austin, it suddenly occurred to me that I had first moved to Austin thirty years ago, in 1982, as a young adult. That was the year I graduated high school — on the day of my eighteenth birthday, no less, back when the drinking age was eighteen — and after spending the summer in Bulgaria, as one does, I'd hied off to Austin to attend the University of Texas that fall.
Thirty years. Thirty freaking years. I'm not freaking old enough to have done something thirty years ago as an adult.
I certainly don't expect to see another thirty years. Hell, with the cancer lurking, I don't really expect to see another five years. My move to Austin was well more than half my life ago, and a hugely larger chunk of years than what most likely lies ahead.
Odd, sad and funny.
Today's my last full day here, as I'm leaving at the crack of dawn on Thursday. Hopefully I'll see some of you at the open dinner tonight, 7:15 at the Threadgill's just south of the river.