I love birthdays.
Birthdays are like lap markers: Like speeding past the starting line in
your Formula One car. You can look at your watch and kinda gauge your
performance over the last lap: What happened in the last year? How have
I grown? Who has coached me? Who has cheered me on? Who has been my pit
crew? How fast am I going? Do I look stupid in this helmet?
Take that car racing metaphor with a grain of salt. I'm not much of a
racing fan and have no idea what I'm talking about. Gimmie a break,
will ya? Just because I think racing is stupid, that doesn't mean I
have to stop enjoying its metaphoric imagery, does it?
May 28, nineteen99