A love letter to the world. Mostly to Sarasota. Mostly in pictures.Burning question?
So, it’s officially my birthday. I am marking the occasion by eating the last slice of the pizza my formerly significant friend brought over on Sunday to fuel our discussion about ending the more-than-friends entanglement. With a beer that is a favorite of his (and mine, and it pairs well with the slice, but still).
Despite my best efforts, I seem to have made it around the sun 36 times.
I was too exhausted to bother going out tonight and I’m torn between trying to throw together some little last-minute “meet me for fancy birthday cocktails” thing for tomorrow and proceeding with my previous plan to more or less completely ignore the day. Both options sound unappealing and depressing.
There is only one thing I actually want for my birthday. But that is done. I will be waking up alone.
fear of forgetting;
also of being forgotten,
replaced, or ignored.
a word I need on a shirt.
If nothing else,
it will help me remember.