I’m fine, thanks for asking

It’s one of those days in which I really, really want to private-blog, but since everyone under the sun has my password, what’s the point of that? 😉

(I may change the password. I know, how’s that for a flash o’ genius, huh?)

I’m trying to figure out what exactly it is about birthdays that makes me want to be sad. I don’t know why. It’s just another day. Well, I guess it’s the fact that it’s a day that’s supposed to be special but it oftentimes gets overlooked that gets me going. An old friend and I used to do these two-week-long celebrations — before and after — by treating ourselves to everything we ever wanted because nobody else was going to pony up and do it for us. New skirt? Happy birthday treat! Hell, get four — it’s my birthday, after all!

I can’t complain, though. I came in to bagels in my honor from my beloved D., and a wonderful card signed by all the usual suspects. I do appreciate, in ways I cannot adequately convey, the way my team never lets a special occasion pass by unacknowledged. Even though they all signed the card, there’s a big ol’ “Happy Birthday” banner over my door and I’ve gotten a stream of cheerful visitors, wishing me well.

It’s hard to be glum around here — even though I did spend my holiday here yesterday and missed out on Sabre’s soiree, it’s all worth it. I look forward to spending the next year of my life right where I am, so that has got to count for something! (Hell, for all the work I have on my to-do list, I might not be able to get up out of this chair for the next year. …)

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