Birthday

I had a birthday last week. Not a milestone one or anything, just another step towards wrinkles, menopause, Talbot's, and death. Is it me, or do you think that birthdays are overrated? Every year, I think it's going to be really fun, that my family and friends are going to actually plan ahead and do something really great. Every year I get "So, what do you want for your birthday?" and "Where should we go to eat?" Just once, I'd like someone to grab the initiative and take me somewhere.

I'm sounding ungrateful. I'm not; believe me. I'm very fortunate and blessed to have people around me that care enough to celebrate with me. I guess I'm just asking the impossible. Again. For the billionth time.

Plus, in the mirror this morning, there was horror: I could see a few tiny laugh lines crackling their way away from my eyes. So you can check wrinkles off the list. Dammit.

Regrets

I went home last night and thought about the bitchy post I made about the party. Either I should delete it altogether since it is unflatteringly about friends and they might see it sometime, or I never, ever tell them this blog exists.

Right now I'm going with the second option, but we shall see.

Almost a week later...

...and things are starting to get back to normal. It's amazing how much Billy's passing hurt. We were there when the vet administered the lethal injection, and he passed quietly. The vet said that Billy must have been in a lot of pain due to the size of his distended abdomen, so we knew we were doing the right thing, but that didn't make it even remotely easier to give her the go-ahead.

I'm going to stop talking about Billy for a little while, since I'm still not able to keep back the tears, but I'm getting better about it.

Perhaps I shall discuss the bizarro party I went to on Saturday night. Yes, I think I will discuss that. In a little while.

Tonight is the night

Billy leaves us tonight at 7pm.

I can't stop weeping.