birthdays suck, at least as far as they do for me. 14 and no care in the world, get my first 6 pack, 18 and in rehab, 19 and pregnant, living in iowa city with a dying baby, 24 alone and leaving my kids with the hubby because i'm off meds and insane.
there's more.
this year is pretty tame, i think.
scotch a roo bars, made my way, steaks, green beans and baked potatoes--diet be damned.
why is it always food that makes the day?
how about coloured her hair and watched The Tudors and listened to "Saturday'?
or
slept for 5 hours cuddled with the only man i'll grow old with?
or
stalked my favorites on the net while i got high on amonia and burned my scalp.
the last one, yeah, that's how we'll remember this one;this year;this day.
hugs and love to you.
the only thing to make this better would be for pete to dance to patrick singing "dance, dance". I could die happy and complete then.
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1 comment:
that was kinda chuck palahniukish,
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