In a few hours, my 35th birthday will arrive. Honestly, this one doesn’t feel like a big deal. 25 was hard for me. It’s the time in a gay man’s life where he’s no longer young and cute. 30 didn’t happen because I crossed the international date line on my way to Australia. 35…. well, it’s going to happen, and I’m going to accept it with some dignity.
For the first time in my life, I feel like things are coming together. I have a great job and a few really good friends. I have the little monster who keeps me company in my apartment. For the first time in over a year, my apartment is clean at least presentable. I really don’t have much to complain about other than a few mice in my apartment. If that’s all I have to complain about, I think I’m doing okay.
My niece sung to me yesterday. My grandmother sent a card. My mom didn’t forget. Of that, I have no doubt.
Really, I’m at a good place right now. It’s time to bring on 35. What am I going to do? Well, Reggie’s walker comes tomorrow afternoon, meaning I don’t have to rush home from work. Instead, I’ll go to the gym after work. That just sounds like a productive thing to do.