Yesterday was my 23rd birthday.
First of all, I still love birthdays. I believe birthdays should be awesome. And I don’t mind getting older, either. In fact, I kind of like it. It’s a new age, new experiences, more credibility. Now, maybe one day I’ll want to stop getting older, but for now I enjoy it. And if I think too long, I’ll realize I’ve already lived longer than some people ever have, and I’ll get freaked out. Getting older is a good thing. It means we have time here to enjoy, even though time here isn’t always enjoyable.
I got gifts from my family Monday when we did a birthday/Father’s Day dinner (some years, my birthday does fall on Father’s Day). My mom got me this awesome cat ring I wanted, and Brandon got me a cute little bag with otters holding hands on it. My coworkers gave me a sweet card they all signed, and the company has cake every month on the next-to-last Thursday, which happened to fall on my actual birthday. I got a card from Pap Pap and Aunt Reg, and presents forthcoming from Meri, Paul, and Terra. I get more cake Sunday, and Scott wants to party together Monday to celebrate his birthday, too.
For the first time ever, I had some obligation on my birthday. Summer birthdays meant lounging until now. Last year, I was unemployed, and even the year before when I was taking a class I had the day off (although it was my 21st birthday and I did have an early midterm the next day). But it wasn’t terrible.
In the end, it was a good birthday. Here’s to many more!

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