Friday was my blogiversary. #12. Today is my birthday. #48.
Yep. I should have really taken those bets years ago because I’ve outlived the naysayers and I’d be fucking RICH I TELL YOU!
But seriously, I have managed to make it over the camel’s hump of my 40s and can see my 50s clearly enough I don’t even need the bifocals to focus on ‘em.
Blogging? Well, let’s just say I’m nowhere near as prolific or outspoken as I once was, but I enjoy it — still — and will keep on blogging inanities until I don’t. That hasn’t happened yet, so all’s good for the time being.
My gifts, already, have been a beautiful card my mom painted: a delightful hummingbird. She didn’t even know the story about the hummingbird that flew right up in front of me while I was on the porch last week. The bird hovered there, slightly tilting its head, examining me for a few moments, and then off it went.
My other gift was a cuddle from the Fletchster. He crawled up on my lap a bit ago and gave me a sweet look, rubbed his cheek against mine, and meowed. He rarely meows.
I have no idea what the rest of the day holds, but whatever it is, I’ll be glad for it as I’m alive and kicking. I’m alive — which is good. If I don’t like what I get — I can kick whoever gave it to me. Ah, but seriously, folks…I’m happy to have made it this far in life and can’t get too upset about much because I’m still drawing breath. And that’s the greatest gift of all, ain’t it?