Self at Forty-four
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It's my birthday.
Happy Birthday, me!
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There's a lot to like about forty-four. Eleven was one of my favorite years, so this year could be four times better than that. I remember this green t-shirt from that year that I wore until it fell off me and now I'm in a junkyard dog shirt that's ready to do the same thing.
I'm a slob.
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My daughter, who hasn't spoken to me for about a month now actually wished me a happy birthday today. She made me a mix tape, which I actually dig because whatever the fuck is wrong with her, her musical taste is very good, very eclectic and oddball and she always turns me on to some cool shit.
So, good that.
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My beautiful wife. I'd rather have five minutes with her than a room full of treasure and a Genie in a lamp. If there is anything better than going to bed at night with someone who knows you, really knows you, and loves you anyway, loves you like a crazy freaking idiot, I don't know what it could be.
It's all I need or could ever wish for.
So. Good that, too.
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Also, duck breasts with orange chipotle sauce for dinner and a homemade chocolate birthday cake for after!
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Maybe I look sad in this drawing, but I'm not. A little care-worn is all.
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I am grateful for all of you who read here and share your shit with me. It brings me good cheer, without fail.
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Peace be upon you.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 3:15 PM
11 Comments:
happy happy birthday!
Yes, happy birthday! Glad it's been a sort of respite from the maelstrom!
Happy duck! Happy chocolate cake!
(Homemade chocolate cake is one of the great pleasures in life.)
Happy birthday!
Happy belated by one day. Today is my Dad's birthday. That makes sense.
love,
Rebecca
got you a burfday present, but it's kindly like an easter egg hunt -- you have ta go find it. and the reason it's a day late, i had a hard time getting hold of one of those big boxes to put it in.
hope it was a good un. always, jim
Happy 44th, brother.
I'm 44, too.
I can't say why, but I think it's going to be a good year.
Despite all the gloom and doom in the news.
I feel light hearted.
I hope you do, too.
Here's our horoscope for this week. Seems especially appropriate and right and meaningful, yes?
"I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again." So wrote Jane Kenyon, translating Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. At this juncture in history, that's a feeling many of us have. Part of the time we're on the verge of freaking out, half-expecting some new calamity to befall the world. Other times we're awash in wonder and awe, catching glimpses of the miraculous flow that's hidden just below the surface of everyday chaos; we're tantalizingly close to understanding that everything is proceeding exactly as it should. In the coming weeks, this excruciating poignancy will peak, especially for you. Regard it as a gift -- as a difficult blessing that has the potential to free you of your illusions.
(courtesy of Free Will Astrology)
thank you for your beautiful fierce words,
happy birthday from a random reader.
the wonders of the internet -- happy belated birthday.
joy
Thank you, guys. All of you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you everyone. Thank you.
(that's my Obama impersonation)
(you have to imagine the roar of the crowd)
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I only know one Joy. It must be you.
The wonders of the internet indeed.
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