30 Good Ones.
Birthdays make me squeamish. Holidays do too. And for that matter so do closing cabinets, opening envelopes, the changing of the seasons, and the passing of most cyclical events. I’ve been struggling with this birthday lately, perhaps because it didn’t give me the sort of anxious feelings that were any different than the ones I’ve always felt this time of year. We as humans like round numbers, we attach value to them, laud them, commemorate them, and build our lives around them. I’ve always struggled with them, forcing me to count has always forced me to count the things I miss, my beloved grandmother, and the darling Cocker Spaniels I’ll never see again. These round numbers to me are quite heavy, but of course this is no one’s fault, just a matter of fact, much like mile markers along the road we are all traveling, they are no more or less special to me than they are for anyone else, they just are. But still these thoughts persist, and I think I think the best I can surmise about th