Today I am the age I have wanted to be since the seventh grade. For some reason, I've believed that 26 is the age where good things will happen to me. In light of my current circumstances, I can't help but wonder whether it will just be phenomenally better than 25.
I think I decided that 26 was the age I always wanted to be because it was the age of my seventh grade teacher, Ms. Bodenheimer. I think, in the thick of those murky and awkward middle school years, I could look at her and see a woman who had her shit together. She'd been to Harvard, Stanford and now enforced literacy to a bunch of apathetic public school twelve year-olds. At the time, I thought there was no more valiant volition.
In any case, I can hardly imagine attempting to be responsible for 30 tweenage twirps. I'm just barely squeaking by looking after Buster for the past week. Speaking of the handsome devil, I think he's enjoyed this birthday thing more than I have this year. I think he believed that each of my presents was a gift for him because they had paper to pounce, ribbons to tug and bags to hide inside for a game of "tough kitty." My sister was even so kind as to include 2 little mouse toys for him and he seems to think they are better for flipping around and batting under the couch than the ones I've provided.
I am not great at planning any fetes for my big day, but I'll be at Rimskys-Korsakoffee House late tomorrow evening to celebrate. I had hoped to plan an ice cream social for myself, but birthdays are hard for me for past 4 years. I used to share the day with my cousin, Matt who was one year my elder. Happy Birthay Matt. I hope I'm doing you proud.