Birthday Cake Song

Hey, folks and slowpokes.

I just logged into WordPress for the first time since April, and I found a draft lounging in my post queue. It wasn’t of particular length or substance, but I am admittedly so vain that the idea of any of my thoughts languishing in the blogosphere pains me greatly. Thus:

“This week marked a particular personal moment in my own Julian calendar, wherein I transitioned from Taylor Swift to Jimmy Eat World. Truth be told, I felt it necessary to mention both Swift’s “22” and Jimmy Eat World’s “23,” as if mere name-dropping would notify the audience of my name day last week. So, there, my return!, albeit one with a poor pair of cultural references to declare

Happy belated birthday to me!

And, as it turns out, Blink-182 was, by my cursory interactions, wrong, and people do sometimes like you when you’re 23. This comes as a bit of a relief, as I’ve seldom questioned the wisdom of Mark, Tom and Travis, and they’ve yet to lead me astray. There was little celebration, as per my request, lu -“

And that’s where it ends. I don’t find it all that surprising. Finishing any task remotely related to writing has proven quite a feat for me as of late. I’m killing myself to live, effectively, working like a madwoman so as to create a sense of financial stability. And it seems to be working. At 23, I’m struggling less with money, with identity, with sense of self, with boy problems, with the ins and outs of daily existence, than ever before. I have a stable relationship and a quasi-stable home life (distance truly does make the heart grow fonder), the potential for improvement, challenges, confidence and an unfettered optimism that change is a good thing. I’m finally feeling more like myself again. I’m gregarious and funny, personable and sharp, traits I haven’t seen in myself in years.

Last year, I promised the summer of my renaissance, but I repeated mistakes whose lessons I’d sworn I’d taken to heart, and I found so many new vices (cops. cops. cops.) I nearly declared myself a sinner. This summer, this has been the one. I pass the rare spare time I’m afforded with Bear – The Man of the Hour, The One, Mr. Wonderful – bettering myself and my circumstances, vowing to really begin my life as an ad-ult (am I putting the right em-phas-is on the right syll-ab-le?). And I’m actually doing a pretty good job, I think. It feels like things may turn around, and I’ll be able to retire my dunce cap once and for all.

Thanks for reading, y’all, and happy (re)birth-day to me.


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