Today is my birthday. For the first time ever, I have not been reminding people about it for weeks in advance--in fact, when Mrs-Roboto asked me a week or two ago how I would be celebrating, I was shocked to remember that it was happening at all. Months ago, I started telling all the doctors that I was "nearly 28," so I kind of forgot that it wasn't really true yet. I think 28 is the perfect age--old enough to know what the hell is going on, but not old enough to be all wrinkly.*
A lot of people think that Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day, just like the Fourth of July here in the U.S., but it isn't. It's actually the anniversary of a battle that the Mexicans won against the French, which sort of made them realize that it was possible for them to be an independent people. So it's the anniversary of a sense of identity, and of a very good idea. I like that.
Maybe it's the fact that the sun just came out a little while ago, or maybe it's the margarita that B bought me for lunch, but I feel fan-freaking-tastic. My life has never been any better than it is right now, and I've never felt more sure about who I am and where I'm going. Thank you to everyone who makes that true.
*Okay, so I haven't reached the plain of higher truth where wrinkles cease to matter. Back off, I'm still young here.
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