Confession

It is my birthday.

I am one year older. Crushingly. Funny how a number can do that. Make you wonder if really you are beautiful, vital, a part of this world. It is only a number, really. I know this in logical terms. I am what I will myself to be. And so it seems dangerous to feel older, to give in to the temptation.

I have noticed though, that people (men) seem to have a vision of what 39 looks like. The "ridden hard and put away wet" type. In our lifestyle it seems more so. Or is it just me? Seeing the world in the way I want to see it.

Again with the fucking box of my own creation.

I don't feel 39. And yet I am thankful for my perspective. I know myself. I know the wants and ways of my body. I have a voice and I know how to use it. I have followed a few unusual paths and come out with only small scrapes. The deeper cuts give me more character.

So really... it's not so bad.

Well. There was the being stood up on Friday. Oh yes, there was that. But that was not my fault, now was it?

So. Happy Birthday to me. You are someone I want to know.

G.