I’m not sure which religious group it is that eschews significant days, birthdays and the Christmas/New Year period, but I’m beginning to think they might be onto something.
The downhill slope to fifty is starting to speed up. That’s not a comfy feeling for a staid old Taurean, but I am sensible enough to know that ageing is ageing, and that there is naught to do but roll with it as gracefully as you can. No. This feels bigger than that.
The passage of a birthday invites a summing up, an evaluation of where your at against the yardstick of your hopes. Does the actual day itself reflect the life? Let’s see. Here’s my prediction for tomorrow.
i will wake up alone. Eat breakfast alone at work. I’ll go to class where my students will ask me a myriad of questions on material I’ve already covered, thus proving that they did spend most of the last eleven weeks of class on Facebook. I’ll go lunch with two delightful women who I share the day with. I’ll go to physio. Friends and some family will call. I’ll go home to an empty of humans house, finish making arrangements for my birthday dinner on the weekend, feed the cat and cook myself dinner. After watching a Dr Who repeat, I’ll go to bed, alone. And there will be no cake.
is it vain, pathetic or foolish of me to wish for something more? Some little whisper from the universe that says ‘You are not lost. You are not superfluous.’
Dear Goddess, let it be so. As Powderfinger sang, these days turned out nothing like I planned.