I have lived thirty seven years of my life as of today. I am single. I am financially-independent. I am healthy (or so I think). I have friends. Some good ones, I'm glad. I have a life (as in I'm breathing, I'm living, kinda life. Not so much of a balanced life kinda life, which I totally do not have. Ha!)
Birthdays don't hold much meaning for me these days. As with Christmases, new years and valentine's... I wonder if I've outgrown all of these celebrations, or I'm just headed down the pessimistic route of nonchalance. Or maybe I just don't celebrate enough of such occasions to love it (hmm... this explanation sounds kinda logical now that I think/am writing about it). Now if you think you can save all your presents because of what I've just said; hell no. Please keep the presents coming, thank you very much. Not wanting to celebrate the occasion doesn't equate to not welcoming the gifts. It's always nice to be remembered with a little token of something. It doesn't have to be expensive. It's really the thought that counts. Actually, even a written card of sorts will work for me.
The girlfriends bought me a House of Harlow cocktail ring! (Well, truth is, I actually told them to buy it for me!) THANKS MUCH, you and you! I totally dig it. It's gorgeous. Like freaking huge gorgeous.
I also had dinner with the gang and it was nice... it's been quite a while since we needed a table for 6 (+ a baby chair) :)
The boyfriend stayed up to apps me "happy birthday" and then he probably @FellAsleep.
The girlfriends apps me about shopping and cordyceps and welcoming the God of Wealth, and then I had to remind them to wish me "happy birthday" amidst all that excitement - HAHAHA.
I'm happy. But I supposed I could always be happier.
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