In a week, I turn 32. It's a nice number. It can be divided equally by 4. Meaning, if I want, I could break my life up into 8 year sections. Except life isn't so structured that this would make much sense. A few unequal divisions stick out to help put all this time into perspective, though.

I would say 10 was a pivotal year. The family moved from a big town (Kansas City) to a small town (Clovis, New Mexico). I'd be in that small town for a lot of the next ten years. 17 was big. I graduated high school, started college and lost my virginity. And the 20s, well there could be a few divisions there as well. So nothing is really orderly when it comes to life. But numbers are interesting to play with.

I graduated from high school 15 years ago this next May. I learned how to juggle in the hour or two I spent waiting for my friends to pick me up for our senior trip to...some hotel in Amarillo. We had a table bill of around $130 at a County Line, which was the biggest dinner bill any of us had ever seen. And even though there were 10 people in our party (making it only about $13 a person), some felt they needed to steal glassware from the restaurant to make up for the bill. Stealing glassware from restaurants, by the way, would be a pastime of many friends over the years. I still have some of the hot glass in my kitchen.

I graduated from college 10 years ago in December. Graduating from college, for me, was rather anti-climactic. It actually made it harder to find a job. Eventually my degree probably did me some good, even if it wasn't really direct in effect. My graduation party was pretty good, though.

We started writing these columns 7 1/2 years ago to vent frustrations about a rather dark time in our lives. Now, I just call it "Florida," but it was probably bigger than just that. Interestingly, Jon, Chris and I disagree about who came up with "Shut Up, I'm Talking..." as a title. All three of us claim to have come up with the title individually. Of course, it was actually just me. If you asked me now, though, I'd probably call it "The Sunday Morning Hangover." Today, however, I am not actually hung over--just in case you were wondering.

I started working at the company I still work at four years ago in November. I had quit my layout job at the afternoon paper (The Albuquerque Tribune), and I was doing some design for a girlfriend of a good friend. It was a few months after I'd sent my resume out when the company called for an interview, and I had no idea what the company did. After a few months on the job, however, I did figure out it had something to do with advertising.

Two years ago, also in November, a good friend of mine died. It was devastating. I was in a haze for a couple of months, and that whole first year after was a series of highs and lows. But I've realized, as time has gone by, that everyone loses important people from tragic circumstances. Brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, children, childhood friends and parents. Somehow we all get by, even if there are those dark times when the questions outnumber the answers.

A year ago, I turned 31. I celebrated the birthday by myself. I thought, 31 is a prime number and seems solitary. And so I arranged to be alone. 31 has been a pretty good year, so I guess seclusion on the birthday helped. But this year, 32 is not a solitary number. And the Super Bowl is on my birthday. My birthday wish, until a few weeks ago, was that the Chiefs would still be playing on my birthday. Unfortunately, we couldn't stop Indianapolis at all, and the Chiefs, like myself, will be watching the big game from home.

I do, however, plan to have company this year. A party, even. Something to celebrate these numbers that help define, but don't really have any part of our lives in a realistic way. I mean, I still get carded and I'm almost 11 years older than the legal drinking limit--obviously being over 30 doesn't mean quite so much anymore. So, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by next Sunday afternoon. The door will definitely be open.

Matt Worley has been able to count since before he can remember.