One good thing about social media is that, when you see all the cool people you admire wishing you a happy birthday, it really sinks in that I know them. It just completely blows my mind. I never could have imagined this life for myself. I’m very lucky.
I’d like also to have a published novel.
But I’m lucky.
I admit, it’s weird. I went for a walk and looked at some flowers and didn’t really feel any different than I did yesterday. But I have to say, I do feel like I’m at a mid-point. I can understand why people buy sports cars or start dating twenty-year-olds. I just don’t want it to be halfway yet, not when I’m just finally figuring shit out.
But I’ve had the Old Man on my mind quite a bit lately. Just how long He’s been hanging around. And I’m glad for that level of weirdness to go on that length of time. This morning, I was thinking about how that kind of is an unintended drawback to Christianity. Jesus dies when he’s younger than the Butcher. What model do you have for how to be holy at forty? Whereas the Old Man is old.
I also was thinking about Walt Whitman and how maybe I’ll reread “Song of Myself” this summer and see what it has to tell me this time.
Anyway, happy birthday to me.
Tiny Cat Pants 