It’s my birthday tomorrow. I’m tempted to write that I’m not fond of them, but I suspect if I went to the blog posts of the past, it’d say pretty much the same thing, and that’s boring. It’s boring, but it’s also true. I’m not fond of them, and not in the way I’m not fond of some other things. It’s a feeling I can’t shake, it’s really a mood. It puts me into a damn mood for no real reason I can point to. Sometimes the mood is worse than other times. My thirtieth birthday wasn’t that much of a treat. My thirty third birthday was fun because, Jesus, and also because I had Robinia to distract me.

This year I’ve still got Robinia to distract me, but I’m used to that now, so I can be put into a bad mood by my birthday, just like old times. Maybe if I treated it less about myself, and more about another year with that sweet girl, maybe that’d make me more fond of it.

She rules,

What a gift she is.