Today is my birthday. I am on the eve of forty now, and sometimes it's hard not to feel enclosed by time, by physical age, but generally my birthday means so much more to me than that. I love my birthday. In my lowest, loneliest times I have always felt -- on my birthday -- a deep and electric sense of hope. It's not just a feeling of renewal really and not just the pact I make with myself to make things better in my eleventh year, my sixteenth, twenty-first, thirtieth, thirty-ninth . . .It's not just that. It's this charged confirmation I feel: I Am. I Am. I am alive and I am hopeful. Nobody confines me to their You Are's. I am free. I am brilliant. (This is what I've told myself since early birthdays) I Am It, the hero of my own world.
Happy birthday to me. And happy birthday to me to you guys too.
I love my husband because he’s kind of a dick. But he’s soft with me and his lip quivered at our wedding. I love my daughters. They’re brilliant and funny, and I’m here to kick down mountains that get in their way. I’m a vegan, and all is right in my world because of it. I can still beat the neighborhood in HORSE because I have a bad-ass set shot. Justice is served well through fair food, and scarcity would be a myth if we shared more, damn. Yo soy una mezcla which leaves me mixed up sometimes. My commute bike’s name is Loops and she’s my favorite kind of car. I wish I had written Chronicle of a Death Foretold. I’ve endured 54 hours of tattoo work. But above all, I fiercely believe in the underdog.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Kerouac (As told to me by Marigoldie)