The day before my actual birthday was wonderful – decorations were put up, some old & new friends came over, Edward cooked us delicious food, we had afternoon tea, we managed to find a field of yellow flowers I’d seen a few days before near Wetumpka, AL but couldn’t quite remember where & did a little photoshoot with fancy clothes there. The atmosphere was festive.
My actual birthday was not wonderful or festive.
27 got off to a very rough start.
I woke up as a 27 year old on Monday and only now on Thursday morning, am I beginning to feel any amount of hope or peace again. I feel a slight vibration in my blood, a bluesy hum, as I listen to “Free Yourself Up” by Lake Street Dive that maybe things are not 100% fucked. Maybe there is room to grow & change, maybe I’ll be able to come up with some dreams for myself. Maybe things are only 75% fucked. Maybe this nearly constant crushing loneliness that is being married to a 3rd year medical student won’t last forever. Maybe I’ll find some ounce of passion within myself to feel again soon that won’t be in the form of anger. Maybe things are only 50% fucked. Maybe the new therapist will help things. Maybe it’ll all work out okay. Maybe this is being human. Maybe I’m not as good at it, as graceful about it, as I could be – but maybe this will be a year of, I don’t know, something like improving & growing in that way. Maybe 27 will be the year of learning how to be.