"You tell me you love me, but there's hate in your eyes."

Another St. Patrick's Day when green was not worn. Not by me anyway. But I helped my friend Arthur celebrate his birthday, which involved karaoke, and I'm all over that. I don't know if that's what's given me a headache. It could also be chewing gum for too long. Or not getting enough sleep. Or not getting enough water. Or not getting enough Advil. But when my head hurts, I do tend to assume that it's because there's something out there I need more of. This is not a scientifically-founded hypothesis. It's just easier than deciding to give up sugar or caffeine. Or singing at the top of your lungs.

I feel a little raw from today. A little sore. I get more from the downtime than I admit. But I pray for the uptime all the while. How powerful long it's been since I've had a bit of up.

And what of all the fishy birthdays? My mother has a March birthday. And last night it was Noam's turn. And tonight, Arthur's. Tomorrow, it's JoJo. I don't really like birthday parties for me. Maybe I've always wished I would have a wonderful, spectacular one, but I haven't ever, so I prefer to just treat it like whatever day of the week it is. It's not martyrdom. It's the resignation of a busy girl with plenty of other things to eviscerate herself over. I don't know what I will do for my birthday this year. I have a feeling that it will be nothing much.

I get a kick from champagne. Who doesn't? But I prefer my Ketel One soda any day of the week.



These hips may never bear children, but it won't be for lack of having been made for it.