Today is my birthday!
I’ve booked the day off, and I’m celebrating with a leisurely day: a hot bath, and a movie tonight (Star Wars, because Deadpool hasn’t opened yet) followed by dinner at a nearby pub. I’ve also hidden my birthday from Facebook notifications, and I haven’t made an effort to notify the people around me that the ol’ odometer (OLDometer – ha!) was about to flip. Why? Am I becoming increasingly hermit-like as I age? Am I having a mid-life crisis?
Maybe, and no. Beneath my layers of sage wisdom (lol) and child-like whimsy (I am, like, SO random!) lurk some deep-seated superstitions, mostly involving not poking the sleeping beast that is a happy life. And that’s really what I’m living right now, so rather than tooting my birthday horn, I’d rather toot a regular everyday horn and enjoy the things I always enjoy and thank whichever lucky stars aligned to let me feel like almost every day is my kind-of birthday.
Work is a huge part of that. When I was little and was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always answered with “teacher”. I’m pretty sure I meant to say “Twitter”, though. That was pretty soothsayerish of me. I didn’t book today off because working on my birthday would have been a drag – I really just wanted to sleep in.
And living in a house that floats on the ocean is a sweet deal! Since I love canoeing, staring at ducks, and diagonal wood panelling, it’s my personal dream come true.
Sharing this house with Scott is a dream come true-er, too. It’s one thing to come up with fun ideas like buying a house on the ocean to live in, or adopting a second cat (not all ideas have to be wacky to be brilliant), but to turn to the person next to you and know they’re totally on board (sometimes literally)? That’s solid gold. When I was a teenager, a really fantastic adult in my life told me that the only way I’d get by in life was to find a rich guy dumb enough to marry me. I’m not the type to gloat, but I keep that memory around exclusively for the purpose of gloating. Wrong on all counts, awful adult from the past.
Come to think of it, I spent too much of my childhood fielding dumb questions and even dumber remarks. And here I am now, looking forward to just another day.