I guess it’s March 2, the anniversary of my birth by now.

This year is pretty weird, though. Usually, I’m pretty keyed up and getting my neurotic flow going days before the birthday. But this year, I’m so busy thinking about a thousand fucking other things, I’m largely oblivious.

One of my friends even offered to take me out tomorrow and for a split second, I thought, why Wednesday? Then I remembered. Same thing with the package I got from my big sis (which was actually sweet and kind of emotional (i.e. not in keeping with our usual relationship)). I got it and thought for a second, “Why is Sis sending me a package?” Luckily, the birthday card inside tipped me off.

I hadn’t remembered at all earlier in the week, when I scheduled some needed rehearsal time for Thursday’s show at the Walsh Brothers. This may be the first time in my cognitive existence that I forgot what day my birthday was coming up on.

Ah well, I guess at 41 what fucking difference does it make, right?