it happened again

This evening: yet another old friend has a husband, and a child. Hence an opportunity to lament growing older, becoming so very, very old, as everyone loves to do, don't they? Almost as much as even older people love to reply with a knowing smile, "You're not really that old; don't worry." Part of me wants to say, "Goddamn, doesn't anyone hold out past 24 anymore?" Really it's an institution the necessity and purpose of which (other than for tax convenience) I just don't understand. But then my life has become so domesticated, so civilized, so minutely co-ordinated of late (albeit in a semi-employed, car-less, endless job search sort of way), that I may as well be married. Not that I am complaining, not in the slightest (sincerely), but then why is it that once you begin living with someone they cease to read your blog? Is this a sign of anything important? We've started writing each other letters again, I'd like to say, to remember what that was like, the patience that required, and its many rewards. But in truth it's only when she's gone that I feel the urge to write to her. She responds in kind, and agrees this is something we should take up again, but then we just enjoy each other's company too damn much to enforce the separation this would require. I'm not sure what, if anything, this has to do with marriage, and old friends.