the lampshade's on fire when the lights go out

Today is my birthday. I am thirty five years old. That number is so strange. That's fifteen more years of life than I really expected to have, and almost twenty more years than I gave myself.

Woke up this morning, and went to the gym. I've been lazy lately about going regularly. But I feel so much more sane when I go. The motion and work soothes the noise in my head, settles me back in my skin. I run out all my frustration and fear. (Though it certainly helps when the pretty ginger boy with tattoos is there.)

When I turned on my phone after the gym, there was a really lovely tweet from Racheline.
"Massive bday wishes to my buddy @sadpear with whom I've been having awkward experiences and telling awesome stories for fifteen years."

Here we are. I can't believe sometimes that it has been so long, because it feels like it went by so fast. And I'm so lucky in the people I know, like Racheline. I'd be Max to her Furiousa at the end of the world, for sure.

I'm going to eat cupcakes and French food and pancakes and take a long bath with my new bath bombs. Cause I'm a grown up man who can do whatever the hell I want.

Otherwise, I keep writing.