  I turned 27 last week. When my maternal grandfather was 27, he was married and already had two children. Two more were born in the next 4 years, including my mother. When my father was 27, he too was married and already had me.
My sister came along a little later. Me, I'm utterly single and, luckily, no little bastards lurking in the corridors. I've been working - for about 5 years now - am financially independant and live on my own. More or less. I do tend to drop in to my mother's place when I want familial company and home food. What else? It's all fairly nebulous, really. I read a lot, and a whole lot of rather odd stuff. I listen to music, used to play the bass myself and write songs, but that's sort of faded away. I write as well, but I'm honest enough to realise that I have a long way to go in that department. I drink - previously mainly beer, lately more of whiskey. I smoke too many cigarettes and too little ganja. I like comics. I love cartoons, kiddie shows and wildlife documentaries. I have some friends.
Not a whole lot, but a really good set. Most of what makes my life worth living is really in the mind, my thoughts on the various inputs that crowd into my consciousness, this ongoing construct within my head. Sometimes things come together and I have a neat idea. More often, it's just the thrill of the chase. All, in all not a bad way to be. Here's to the next 27 years... 
