Here is the painting Stinky made me for my birthday. She wanted to paint me flowers because she knows how much I love them, but the first photo she looked at was of fireworks. So, she painted a flower that looked like fireworks. Perfect
In 15 minutes I will officially be fortymuthafuckinfour years old. Shit, yo! That seems really really old when you look at it on paper. Luckily for me, it doesn't feel that old in the real world...Or whatever world it is that I live in.
I know people who get sad on their birthdays. I'm not one of those. I tend to celebrate it as long as I can. As far as I'm concerned, finishing every year is a HUGE fucking accomplishment. And beginning every year offers the prospect of another wonderfully ridiculous adventure.
I think if someone had told my 22 year old self that in that many more years, I'd be a single mom with two teenage daughters without being anywhere close to having a boyfriend, I'd feel sad about that.
On the other hand... If someone had told my 22 year old self that in that many more years, I'd still be running and bike riding and finally like myself and be comfortable in my body and my own skin, I'd be happy as hell. I'd have no idea what that would feel like, but I'd know I'd want to get to that place.
So, here I sit, careening dangerously close to 44. I'm in kick-ass shape, I know what to do to make myself happy, and I actually do those things. I have a job that's just fine, has great benefits, and gives me tons of freedom. I have two amazing daughters who actually respect me and think I'm almost as funny as I do. I am set and ready for action to deal with the wonderfully ridiculous year that awaits me. I am one, lucky, lucky fortymuthafuckinfour year old girl.