In Spite Of Myself

I think it's fair to say that I'm generally inclined to encourage a fuss on my birthday, but somehow this time I'm not so much in the mood. It's a big one. Bigger than I think it ought to be, bigger than I'd like to acknowledge, mortality-wise.

I seriously want to live forever, and I read so much science fiction that there's a tiny part of me that doesn't really get that I can't. No rejuv treatment? No nanites in my bloodstream, protecting my cells? No smart symbiotic organisms keeping me young? Surely not!

For some reason, my mother is way more excited about this birthday than I am. She mentioned Hawaii when she visited last August, which ordinarily would have me saying "Just let me request PTO", but instead provoked a distinct nausea.

Really not happy with this age thing.

Eventually, when it became clear that I was not open to my own special Birthday Carnivale, she decided to buy me a car, with which I have no complaints.

(She asked me if $x,000 would be enough, for which there is of course no answer. Yes, it's enough if I'm buying a car under $x,000, but not enough if I want a more expensive car. Lucky for her I'm neither a car person nor into cars as status symbols, so it is enough. Realistically, any amount is enough, as I was planning on a new car one of these years anyway, and I can actually afford to buy one).

And today I have my Birthday Car, two weeks and a day short of my birthday.

I'm pretty happy with it, two hours later.

You may wonder why all the fuss for someone who's not a car person.

• It smells new.
• It's shiny.
• The last car I bought myself was in 1996.

And then I stopped by some strange store, which I still can't figure out, but now I don't care because they had a few skeins of yarn on the bottom shelf under stickers and paintbrushes and note cards and photo albums, and since I'd already started with the birthday gifts, I thought a few more couldn't hurt, and might in fact get me in the mood.

Two skeins of a heavy fingering weight yarn which I think is probably not machine washable, though maybe it is; those laundry care symbols always stymie me as they didn't make it into long-term storage by the time I decided to do triage on what gets to take up space there. (My head is full. There's no room for stuff I can look up or won't need again).

Gloves it is then.

And by the way as usual, what appears blue above is actually violet. (Blah blah blah my photography skills).

Five skeins of a deliciously soft cabled cotton yarn in smokey greys with touches of slate blue, mustard and dull purple. And my azaleas, which would otherwise make an annoyingly trite picture; besides which I had a picture of them either last year or the year before around this time.

Next up on the birthday presents list: crystals!