I wake up and I’m fifty-two years old. Is there any significance to this? The only things I can think of in connection to the number is the card prank and the 1986 Frankenheimer flick with Roy Scheider and Ann-Margaret. Neither resonates much.
When I bartended and someone tried to get a free drink for their birthday I’d tell them to bring their mother and I’d buy her one. Do any of us deserve special attention on the day we were born? We did nothing that day except not die. I used to not want to acknowledge the day at all. Now I’m more reflective about it. Probably because there are fewer to come than I’ve already had.
I don’t mean to be a grim or a downer. Just noticing the time pass. It’s as it should be. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.
Bienestar Pharmacy texted me happy birthday like they do every year even though I’ve never filled my prescriptions there. They just care, I guess.
Tonight I’m going to Tufano’s for some Italian food, then to the Bottle to see Earth and Iceage. I’m looking forward to it. What else can you ask for than to have something to look forward to?