As I gracefully grow more debauched and depraved

[sovay]

I am twenty-five years old. This time of year in 1981, my mother lost the crown on her tooth to a Tootsie Roll and as a dentist's appointment would have been most convenient, instead the next day I was born. My father says that he took his first look at me, prepared to lie for love of my mother—Love, she's beautiful—and millions of years of selfish genes slammed him in the back of the head and he found that he believed what he said: Love, she's beautiful . . . And I slept in the same crib as three cats, but that was later. It's strange to grow older than characters you once thought were grown up.

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came
And go round and round and round in the circle game

Comments

[strange-selkie.livejournal.com]

Someone probably thought Winston Churchill was beautiful...

*hugs*

Happy Birthday. I meant to comment earlier, but there was a horrible accident. I survived.

[sovay]

I meant to comment earlier, but there was a horrible accident. I survived.

I am very glad to hear that. It would have been the worst birthday present ever if you had died. Everyone all right, or at least repairable?

[strange-selkie.livejournal.com]

It was ghastly. There were flying shards of cobalt-blue Pyrex baking dish. There were pools of blood. It was at least as ghastly as that short story of yours where the poor college student burns to death with the salt crystal, and at least if I'd have burned to death instead of gashed my feet in unseemly ribbons, I wouldn't be subject to Band-Aid Brand Hurt-Free Antiseptic Wash with such alarming regularity. They say it's hurt-free. They lie. The first-ad industry is built on a tissue of lies.

Did you get cake?