Doesn’t feel any different than how thirty-five was.  I have the same mundane grown-up responsibilities as I did the year prior, I still feel like time is flying faster and faster the older I become, and physically I don’t really feel much different than I did when I was twenty-six.  I still feel pretty out-of-touch with the trends of the world, I’m quick to find popular trends obnoxious, and I often feel like nothing today stacks up to how things were in the past. 

The only slightly noticeable difference is that I think I’m approaching the age in which unfortunately, death is emerging as a more prevalent presence in the lives of everyone around me, and with the ever-present presence of social media, it’s so quick and easy to spread the bad news of whenever anyone passes.

My brog is still down, but if all goes according to plan, maybe by the summer, I’ll have taken the necessary steps and effort in order to get it back up on the internets for the forseeable future.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all of this; despite the fact that I’m pretty low-key and reluctant to speak about my birthday to my peers and acquaintances, I still feel some sort of necessity to write something on my birthday, as if it’s some sort of slate cleaning and arrival of a fresh canvas to decorate with the happenings of another year of life.

I’ve long passed the days of when I expected to have big parties or grandiose gatherings in celebration of just me, and frankly I’d rather just not be annoyed, dejected or upset on my birthday and call it a day.  A complimentary meal and a slice of not over-sweet cake are nice, and were delivered by mythical girlfriend, which are really just a few of the things that I’d ask for.

Admittedly, the thought crossed my mind to have a party since I have a sweet sizeable home in which to host people, but despite the fact that it’s nearly been a year since I moved in and mostly have settled completely in, there were still some little things and accessories that I had in mind that I do not own yet, and by the time I had the idea to maybe host something, it was already at that point where it would be too late to create an event and actually expect anyone to not have already committed the time to something else previously. 

Maybe next year.  Maybe by then, I’ll have lots of string lights, some adequate lawn and patio furniture, and the weather will hopefully not be too bipolar chilly and with a metric ton of pollen in the air, and I’ll be able to have a pleasant mostly-outdoor shindig with barbecue, lots of snacks and refreshments, and a projection screen where everyone can announce their arrivals and goings with entrance music like in professional wrestling.

But until then, thirty-six is probably going to be more of the same, which isn’t the worst fate in the world.  Birthdays aren’t really at all that important to me, but far be it for me to deny those who feel differently.

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