I am so tired of the cold. Tired of the wet too. The sun has been out lately, but I don’t think I’ve felt warm for days now, no matter how warm it actually is in the house. I’m ready for the seasons to begin to change. It’s usually much nicer than this by my birthday.

Oh, and there’s going to be cloudy, cold, wet weather this weekend too, just to set the mood for completing my forty-fifth year on this planet. I can’t wait! Break out the black balloons and tombstones, I am declaring myself officially middle-aged on Saturday night!

My glee … can you feel it?

Statistically speaking, I should have officially declared myself middle-aged some years ago. I feel confident stating that the larger portion of my life is now behind me. Not necessarily the better portion, but certainly the larger one. The years ahead of me are fewer than I have seen before, but I still think the best is yet to come … or it’s happening right now. This may be the best it gets, and you know what?

I’m cool with that.

Oh sure, being rich, famous, lauded, stunningly gorgeous, living in a mansion with a full staff including a driver, gardener, and cook wouldn’t be something I couldn’t adapt to in about a day and a half, but my life isn’t bad. It fits me like a worn pair of jeans fresh from the dryer. I may complain about the knees being out and hems being frayed, but I still love the jeans.

Anyway, the weather’s going to be gross for my birthday, which is just as well, because all I really want to do is eat candies and be introspective. Or mopey. It’s possible I will be mopey.