It's the year when some poet said we must love or accept the consequences

[sovay]

It is my birthday. I am thirty-two years old. I woke to derspatchel calculating when I would be thirty-three and a third. (Sometime in February 2015.) I have a card from my parents with a midway motif, a copy of Evangeline Walton's She Walks in Darkness (Etruscan!), and from Rob a framed print of the iconic sign of Lyndell's Bakery, a meeting point between our households when I lived on Dartmouth Street; now we visit it together. It will be the first piece of art we hang in our new home. We are going to spend the afternoon at New England Aquarium and then see if we can catch the restoration of The Caine Mutiny (1954) at the Brattle. It is clear and sunny outside, bright autumn. So far, this day, so good.

Comments

[sovay]

32 is excellent also.

I thought I was the age of the protagonist of my second-ever published story and was about to write quite cheerfully about this way of marking the passage of time when I double-checked and saw he was thirty-four. So I'll have to wait. THE HORROR.

Happy birthday! Lovely weather for it.

Thank you! We did a lot of walking. It was absolutely beautiful.

[weirdquark]

I thought I was the age of the protagonist of my second-ever published story and was about to write quite cheerfully about this way of marking the passage of time when I double-checked and saw he was thirty-four. So I'll have to wait. THE HORROR.

gaudior did the reverse where she kept thinking that she herself was thirty-four for a few years before it actually happened.

Hope your birthday continued to be excellent!

[sovay]

gaudior did the reverse where she kept thinking that she herself was thirty-four for a few years before it actually happened.

I hope she liked it when she finally got there.

Hope your birthday continued to be excellent!

It did, thank you!