At 42, Elvis Presley died on his toilet – alone, out of his head, and morbidly obese. Sometimes it’s not so hard to imagine how he felt that day. My best friend at the time said, “oh well, I didn’t like him anyway.” But thirty years later, here we are, barraged with remembrances of this man’s relatively short life… and that morbidly obese man probably would have loved those new banana crème Reese’s Cups created in his honor.

At 42 as of today, I’m standing at the proverbial crossroads, not sure which way to turn. The shortest path to the end tempts me now more than ever, and all the recent unwanted changes almost make it seem inevitable. But I had a dream the other night that someone very close to me did it before I could, and I was devastated. So I never will take that path! I’ll settle for one of the long, twisty, unpredictable ones instead. And I need to make sure my Benjamin re-joins me along the way sometime soon.