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Tuesday, April 18, 2006
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at 32.
I often use this space to talk about the things I've learned, or the things I'm learning. Sometimes I use it to rant, sometimes I use it to weep, and -- more often than not -- I use it to laugh.
I love having the opportunity to walk through my life in words.
But tonight, as I look forward to my 32nd birthday on April 19, 2006, all I want to say is thank you.
I know. I'm completely cheesy. So what. This IS HOW THE ELDERLY ARE, PEOPLE.
Anyhow.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for always believing in my best, and loving me through my worst.
Thank you, Sean, for having incredible faith in who I am and for caring about me as a brother and as a friend.
Thank you to the rest of my family for being incredibly nuts and incredibly lovable at the same time.
Thank you to my roommates, to my camp girls, to my prairie girls, to my lifelong girls, and to the girls that are all of the above. You've taught me the meaning of devotion and grace on a grand and lovely scale.
Thank you to my hockey boys, to my camp boys, and to my dear guy friends. You've made it impossible for me to give up on the opposite sex and entirely too emotionally involved in certain sports involving sticks and pucks.
Thank you to my excellent team at work, for your friendship, guidance, hijinks, and endless inappropriate emails. You made me feel welcome at a time when I wasn't sure I knew which end was up.
Thank you to my fellow bloggers, those I link to because I am proud of you and your work, and those I am just discovering and getting to know. Your voices buoy my spirit on a daily basis, and you make me so proud to be a part of your lives.
And thank you to anyone who has come by in the last year to see what heedless and wacky words came tumbling out of my heart and onto the screen. I am honoured and blessed by your understanding and support.
I couldn't be surrounded by a better group of people.
Here's to another year of playing and living together.
Much love to all.
BRING ON THE SALTED FOODS.
11:48:45 PM 
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the post in which she appears to be yelling a good portion of the time.Woo! Only 24 hours until I turn 32!
Eeeek!
I had a lot of things I wanted to accomplish by the time I was this age, but I ended up doing other stuff instead. Perhaps I'll just bump those things forward to be completed by 33.
Another year should do the trick. Maybe.
HUGE thanks to those of you that contributed to my fresh new license. When I renew tomorrow, I shall have fond thoughts of you and the lattes and firewood and gender reassignment surgeries (I think you were kidding, but who can be sure?) that you gave up to support me in my writing.
Any further donations will go into the "HOLY CRAP I AM GOING GRAY OR AT LEAST SOME HAIRS ARE AND I BLAME MY FATHER AND PLEASE PLEASE EXPENSIVE COLOURIST THAT I CANNOT AFFORD, MAKE IT GO AWAY" fund, which is small as yet (but rapidly growing every time I look in the mirror and see Emmylou Harris staring back at me.)
(Only I just know the two guitar chords. So it's a silent image.)
Tomorrow night, I shall spend birthday eve at a baby shower and possibly checking out a new apartment (OH PLEASE LET US GET THIS APARTMENT!) that has, well... EVERYTHING WE WANT. It's all so tingly. We're hoping hot water is included, since it has a SOAKER TUB.
Cross your fingers! In fact, cross every appendage you have! Do it now! And keep it crossed until we get the apartment! That would be the best birthday present ever.
Besides, of course, an! unlimited! shopping! spree! at! SEPHORA!
And we all know how likely THAT is.
Okay. I should sleep. Doesn't mean I will, but wouldn't it be a kick if I did?
Imagine if I magically started sleeping through the night at 32, like most people did when they were about a year old?
Then my mom wouldn't have to drive an hour over here every night to bring me a glass of water and turn on the hall light and find my teddy bear on the floor and check under the bed for monsters and find out what that weird shadow is in my closet and sing "Alice's Restaurant" until my eyes fluttered shut.
(And then do it all over again in two hours.)
Oh, hell, I can't sleep. I'll just do some work or read blogs, and then fall asleep on poor Martin, my iBook (though this is also the name of my tousle-haired Irish boyfriend who gets ruddy cheeks in the cold and has lovely, strong hands and a penchant for Thai cookery... and doesn't actually exist.)
Martin is smooth like an eggshell and warm like a fresh loaf of bread, and he glows gently, no matter what time of night I wake to find I have typed this with my cheekbone:
"zzzzzzzzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq"
I totally don't deserve to turn 32 yet.
12:23:23 AM
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© Copyright
2006
Meg Fowler.
Last update:
5/1/06; 1:36:05 AM. |
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