As you get older, you realize that it is ridiculous to make a big deal over your birthday. There are grown ass adults who celebrate their birth *month* - a whole fucking month of self-congratulatory non-sense because you achieved escape velocity out of your mother's vagina? That being said, the other end of the spectrum, where at most you get a few random texts from people you rarely see, there is no crowd singing you "Happy Birthday" before you MAKE A WISH and blow out the candles is not great either.
This morning was no different than the other 364 days of the year - I woke up (miserable), cleaned out the litter boxes, had breakfast, and pooped. The only difference was instead of going to work, I did an extra long work out - wind sprints at the local high school and then home for a full hour of BODY ATTACK. Why? To prove to myself I can. To show my mental toughness. To thumb a nose at the calendar that shows another year on the age odometer. As John Locke said in LOST, "Don't tell me what I can't do."
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