It's such a strange thought to think of my mother in labour, pressing me out into the world, as if she or I had any choice in the matter. Birthdays generally make me more sad than jubilant, for the most part because they make me think of losing my mother, and now as this year I pass the her fatal age (last year I turned the age she was when she had the accident), it's kind of hard to even think about getting older.
I think there's some psychological breakdown when you lose a parent at a youngish age (I was 14). They become suspended in time for you, of course, but you also have a hard time imagining yourself getting past that age. You simply assume your life is going to end somewhere around that time too. It's not logical and maybe it's a product of a sort of grief. Who knows.
But I've had a lovely birthday so far (starting yesterday): my work colleagues got me a gorgeous cake and a cute little present, I got a nice card from my father and stepmother, I'm having brunch with my friend Tina and tonight we're going to NYC.
And now the year starts againa kind of new year revolution for me: what do I want to accomplish this year? A first draft of one of my novels, finish the house, be an extra in a movie, read lots, write more, and most of all, be healthy.