Thirty five started with a yelp, a handful of ibuprofen and one icepack after another like the universe was shouting WARNING: APPROACHING MIDDLE AGE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. For reasons unknown, my thumb is trying to fall off.
So, my birthday plans of power yoga and mosaic-making flew out the window, and instead I saw the chiropractor and now sit pecking out these words, deleting every other one because typing with my left hand is not as easy as it should be.
So far, 35 is strange!
I’ve been spoiled rotten though. Meals with friends, delightful cards, beautiful hairs, BACKPACK LEAF BLOWERS (OMG), patio furniture (woot!), and the most ingenious puppy entertainment system ever (see Clyde and Walter’s joy here). The fun continues as I eat my way through Sacramento all weekend–Ella and Bacon & Butter!!–plus BBQ at Marm’s. I’m feeling so loved, even if Mr. T had to help me cut my food last night.
I’m also severely weirded out though. T was 35 when we started hanging out many moons ago and I distinctly remember him being old. Now I realize how that couldn’t have been possible because I am definitely not old, despite thumb evidence to the contrary. Still. Weird.