Happy Happy Oh My Friend

Happy Happy Oh My Friend

First thing’s first:  It’s my birthday.  I’m 39 today.  It’s also my brother’s birthday.  He is 47.  No, we are not twins.  It’s shocking — SHOCKING — the number of people who ask this question when I say that my brother and I share a birthday except eight years apart.  

I am not a birthday person — I don’t get all excited, I don’t expect gifts or cards (although I never, ever, say no to cake), and I get uncomfortable when people make a big whoo-hoo deal.  But my husband did the only thing I ever really want for my birthday — he supervised the kids making me birthday cards, and they’re phenomenal.  I couldn’t imagine anything else I could want!

On Friday I went to the doctor thanks to my bullying husband, and got antibiotics which almost immediately made me feel better.  Saturday was spent on a last minute rehearsal for my daughter’s solo on Sunday, delivering Girl Scout Cookies, and a birthday party for a classmate’s of my youngest.  The Husband went to meet up with some friends in DC and I took the kids to McDonalds for dinner and playtime, and did laundry.  Very exciting stuff.

Sunday was my daughter’s solo which she OWNED and then out to lunch to celebrate that and my birthday, and then a nap, and then delivering more fucking Girl Scout Cookies!

Today I feel worlds better.  I’m still relatively exhausted from just the illness and also having my husband gone on Saturday night — I couldn’t sleep until he was at his friend’s house to crash for the night and I kept waking up and checking to see if he was on the road yet.  However, now that I can be conscious for more than 2 hours, I hope to get back to exercise and writing faithfully.

I want to explore the “what am I afraid of” part about going back to work because that’s the conversation I started with my husband when the cold from hell hit.

But today, it’s just my birthday, so I’m going to catch a nap after I have my lunch.  My husband is sick today so I hope he feels better too. He’s going to the doctor this afternoon so hopefully he’s on the mend soon.

  • Run: n/a
  • Words written: 400+
  • Weight: 145 — after a fucking WEEK of no appetite.  Still.
  •  Deck Check: Backwards Down the Number Line, Phish (Joy) OBVIOUSLY that is my song today.

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