I'm just not very good at it. As the years pass I feel as though I'm getting younger. On each birthday my skin gets pinker and I have less and less figured out about the world.
I'm mostly okay with that. Birthdays are funny. A weird custom controlled by numbers. I've never been too fond of numbers or people making a fuss over me. Must be my middle child syndrome. Every birthday since I can remember always starts out as if it's going to be completely awful, and then like magic everything falls into place. This year was no exception to the rule.
The weekend held surprise visits, decadent food, dance parties, copious amounts of liquor, and sunshine! I love my people. I love them a lot. I had a big smile plastered on my face for the entire weekend. It was lovely. I suppose it's all these people that are keeping me so damn young.
It will be tough facing the week after such a lovely and carefree weekend, but I am all grown up now (yeah right) so I think I can manage. I guess I should start cleaning my room now ...