When its your birthday, when the day actually arrives...
You kinda want the whole world to explode
or something to come crashing down around someone closeby,
to make them stop everything and realize... Holy Shit today is your
fucking birthday isnt it? And if you're anything like me,
and it's been your birthday for 53 minutes already
and the world still hasn't exploded/imploded/disappeared into a wash
of Blood Flame and death...
You start to wonder if really it wouldnt matter at all if you were
delusional and a butterfly dreaming you were a 23 year old girl
on her birthday because its all the same really, you sentimental sap.
So if something incredible were to happen (and now it'd only be incredible
because of this statement) or perhaps...
I should be more confidant in my own gut feelings
and say "if something incredible IS to happen, and my ceiling falls
down on my head tonight as I dream about philosophers and butter knives-
Well then won't I be the smuggest little lady on line at the pearly gates.
Or perhaps elsewhere since I'm pretty sure I wasn't to church
at all while I was 22 so I doubt it'd be so smooth a ride
for me to stroll up (up) now that I'm 23. Anyway, it's my birthday. Get Excited.
Or dont. Cuz today is like any other day. (when the most delightful little
irish girl named genevieve purcell was born in new brunswick nj
to neil and sheila in the early afternoon time) gnite scouts.