the best of days

I'm setting this to publish in about 45 minutes, which will be the time I was born 32 years ago. At least out here, in this time zone. (This must be a sign of something — I completely forgot the site is set to EST. Time zones are stupid, but that's a different story.)

It, like most of my secrets, is a terribly kept fact that birthdays and I don't agree very well. We used to — there are plenty of pictures of me opening presents, blowing out candles, surrounded by people. It all changed after being sick. 28 was spent in the hospital, having had my operation a day or two prior. I hung on ok through 29 but 30 was a giant bitch. 31 was fun, but the storm cloud hung on. This year's birthday is doing well though.

The real question is why I am so silly about this. The best I could for Rachael was this: I feel like I am dancing on my own grave — it feels more like an FU to the universe versus a celebration of being alive. I know that isn't right. It doesn't make much sense, though I know it started after being sick, so perhaps it makes more sense than I am giving it credit for. As a result, I have felt compelled to do something reckless or stupid or unusual just to prove my point. It never works out that way and, for all of my idiot ideas this year, I took it easy. So far.

R and I hung til mid-afternoon yesterday, then I went to Kurt and Mike's and played Portal until R came over with food. She made soup, we ate and watched 'Black Belt Jones.' I hadn't seen it in like 10-12 years. And it still rules, though I certainly liked it more than everyone else.

Here is the taste you need:

We have no concrete plans for tonight yet, though it is sounding like dinner somewhere and then some hanging out. Maybe I just have gotten old and boring. Least I feel less anxious about today than I have the last several years.