Mar. 24th, 2007

Birthdays come. Birthdays go.

I remember many, many moons ago when birthdays were somehow exciting. They were landmarks - 10, 13, 16, 20 (my 2nd quarter life crisis). Now . . . they sort of feel anti-climatic. I used to use them as days of reflection, but that just became depressing (thus the 'life crisis' on my 18th and 20th birthdays).

Which, in no way, is to downplay how thrilled I always am to have mom fly out to celebrate them with me. But every trip she makes out here is special to me. With or without birthdays. As always, we had a great time over the last few days. Ate, shopped (a lot), just hung out and relaxed in my apartment.

Speaking of which, she leaves tomorrow morning. Which . . . is never a good time. Both of us will have a difficult time ending the hug, we'll both try desperately not to let the other one see us cry (yes, it's been almost 4 years and it never gets easier to separate), and then I'll very likely mope around my apartment for the rest of the day. Standard practice.

For my birthday, from my wonderful system, I received the beginnings of what feels like a nasty chest cold and the return of my stomach pain.

Bed time I think . . .



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