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(I am determined to make peace with it. I really am.)

Thirty-three’s good, right? It’s half of 66. It’s on all the Rolling Rock bottles, providing mystery and debate. It’s two years less than 35 (when I will REALLY be freaking out). All good things. Good. Good.


No, really. I’m fine. And I love birthdays, so I am determined to enjoy this one. In fact, I’m one of those people who can drag out a birthday celebration for ages, so I’ve actually been in birthday mode for about a day now. Yesterday I spent making conscious efforts to leave certain things in my thirty-second year, a sort of psychic housecleaning. I don’t want to spend 33 apologizing too much (always a problem) or not telling the people I care about how much they mean to me (you know who you are) or rushing around madly to the point that the year flies by and I never really slowed down to enjoy it. That sort of thing.

Also, I want to eat a lot of cake this year. Don’t know why. Just do.

Today is also the day that the tree crew is coming to clean up all the brush and fallen trees in our yard, everything left behind from the ice storms this winter. It’s this debris I’ve been looking at out my study window for over a year now, and hopefully, by day’s end, I’ll have a whole new view. Can’t think of a better birthday present than that: looking at the world from the same place you always have, but seeing it all just a little bit differently. Nice.

Have a good day everyone!