It is 12:05 AM as I start this post, which means it is technically my birthday eve. I had a lovely birthday eve-eve with La Famille Bultsma and Becca. I picked up a crapton of sushi, made a cheesecake, and we watched ridiculous YouTube vidjas (that was for Deanne) for well over an hour.
La Famille Bultsma gave me this:
…to which a friend said I was an addict and why didn’t I just use a syringe already. Okay, then…
And in true Birthday Week fashion, the Universe is intent upon reminding me that I will likely die alone, as Thursday’s mail brought an invitation to a baby show for two women I do not know and I cannot figure out why I was invited in the first place, and Friday’s mail brought a save-the-date for a former student’s wedding. Why these pieces of mail could not arrive at a time other than my birthday week is beyond me. I think the universe hates me.
And since my birthday falls on the Sabbath this year, I will not be doing a whole lot of celebrating anyway. I’ll go to church, where no one knows it’s my birthday, and I’ll come home and take a nap, then go to choir rehearsal, then come home. And on my birthday eve? I’m gutting my closet and reorganizing it.
I think my 16 year-old self wants to slap my old-lady self into unconsciousness. I would not press charges against her if she was able to bend the time-space continuum and do just that.
