June 21, 1984…
On this date, my mother weighed close to two hundred pounds and she was really, really pissed off because a twenty day old person had taken up residence in her uterus and was refusing to leave.
Twenty three years later, here we are, my poor mother having given up being pissed because she has finally accepted that SHE WILL NEVER BE RID OF ME. She finally managed to get me out of her person, twenty days later than I should have gotten out, and I suppose that having undergone that struggle, she decided to just suck it up when it comes to my taking up space in her house. As long as I don’t use the wrong pot for the macaroni.
It is my birthday today and I feel many ways: I feel tired, but that’s just because I’M INSANE and I’m doing a job that only INSANE people would do. I’m elated to have made it this far, I’m looking back over the last few years thinking ‘Whoa Now…’. I’m looking forward to the next years, I’m excited and interested to know what this world will toss in my direction over the next decades.
But mostly of all I’m looking forward to some cake. The kind that the Berry King gets me every year for my birthday, with all of its yummy goodness to be eaten in the presence of all the Berry Babies and the people I love best.
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