Thirty five years on this 4.5 billion year old rock has not broken me.
The universe, in its infinitely vast indifference to my existence, has not seen me fade away.
I come from a long line of resilient motherfuckers; warriors as ancient as the nation that was stolen from them.
I will not break.
At three and a half decades of age, I'm less than halfway through the heartbeat that is the span of a human life.
I'm beaten, battered, torn, and scarred. I'm not, however, dead.
And I don't intend to be.
I am a fucking Weeble.