I am just now emerging from a two-week period of consecutive 12-hour work days. I even had to get up and do worky things on Saturdays and Sundays, and they usually fall on the weekend, and in the early morning! On the weekend!
Sleep! Sleep! All I want for my birthday is sleep!
…and a pony.
So… it’s my birthday today!
AND… I finally got to go home from work today AT FIVE O’CLOCK SHARP.
So I went out to dinner with some friends who I didn’t even know at this time last year, after coming home from my outstandingly awesome job that I didn’t even dream I would have at this time last year, and now I will drink some tea and sleep the sleep of the just.
I always love my birthday. I am not shy about broadcasting the fact of my birthday to the world and to strangers. I have had some entirely amazing birthdays in my time.
This one beats them all.
I’m 35. My early thirties were a bit of a rough time for me. Things have turned around for me in the last twelve months in a way that is nothing short of a miracle. I am infinitely blessed and insanely lucky.
AND… I got treated last night — by utter and complete surprise — to a ball game at Fenway.
No really. Does it get any better than this? I might explode.