i feel obligated to mention that the pre-birthday festivities began last night with overwhelming dorkiness on the ‘stedcam and a late-night trip to denny’s with chad and chris. these are just good things on any day, especially good last night.
so the well-wishes are still pouring in, and sarah gave me the two david sedaris books she’s been raving about, me talk pretty one day and naked, and i am listening to big head todd and the monsters and thinking, “why can’t every day be my birthday?” not for the nifty presents and emails and calls and stuff, but just for this overwhelming good feeling in the gut, the preening pride even though i’m in casual-friday jeans, the way i smacked the gate latch exactly right on the way out this morning so it popped open with a satisfying thwuck and i slid out, scuttled down the rain-brushed street to the bus, the extra-big bus no less, the luxo-liner bus with the plushy seats and just as we hit the bridge i looked west, west out to nowhere and everywhere, the ocean is right there, halsted, you’ve got to look, and so i did, and so i am. happy. on my birthday.
but it could be every day, you know. i need to remember that. somewhere in here i’ve forgotten how to be happy about the little bits; the muck and mire of wanting something more; why do i have to tarnish things in order to kick myself into action?
every day could be this good. i have to remember.