Getting older is infinitely preferable to the alternative. Besides, I’m a late bloomer, so I am convinced the best is yet to come. That said, it’s strange to remember that my current age seemed ancient to me when I was a kid. Oh well, what did I know then? I was young and dumb, and if Tumblr had existed in the 1980s, mine would have been filled with the same forever-alone quotes and no-one-understands-me photos that all the teens blog and reblog today. (I keep seeing that shit because people reblog my cat photos and I click on their links hoping for more cat photos and I get a dose of Prozac Nation instead. Meh.) Life gets better as the years go by.
To mark my December 23 birthday, my gorgeous mother, BarbaraB, surprised me by overcoming the global helium shortage and sending me a bouquet of balloons.
Balloons have gotten awfully specific. I thought they only came in even numbers!
BarbaraB keeps asking me, “How can you be 45 when I still feel 45?” I don’t know. Let’s ask FitzRoy the cat!
Um, apparently, we’ll have to get back to FitzRoy when he’s not hyp-mo-tized by a balloon bouquet.