My birthday isn't till Tuesday, but I've already received an amazing gift: The New Mexico Lobos beat BYU at the Pit yesterday.

It might be all downhill from here, but history suggests something different: change. When I was nine, I skipped fourth grade.

When I was nineteen, I had just moved up to Albuquerque to finish college at UNM.

When I was twenty-nine, the braces came off.

Wither thirty-nine?

I might be over-stating my end of decade years a bit, since there is surely a change or two of some kind every year. But the nines have the look of standing at the edge of a cliff. At least metaphorically.

Feeling good about that.

I need a new direction.

It feels like I've been stuck in idle for a while. What was initially just a "get through the recession" job has become something like a jail cell. I have no idea when I'm going to get out of it. And I know I've got to spring myself. I've got keys around here somewhere.

I'm good at something, right?

So there you have it, a proclamation. Like many of the proclamations I've been making lately.

I'm looking for the breakthrough, but haven't quite found an entry point. Maybe there isn't one. Just push hard and the hole will open.

Search and discover. Maybe destroy. Possibly create.

It can't be all over for me yet.

There was a notice for auditions that stated they really needed middle-aged men. Am I middle-aged? Did that catch up with me already?

I haven't started popping all kinds of pills to prevent things that might happen to my body from happening. I haven't bought a little sporty convertible. But sometimes I do groan and moan and mutter, "I'm getting too old for this shit."

So we'll see.

Should be fun.

Matt Worley is three times a teenager.