This is It

The day I've been dreading. In 24 hours it will all be over, except for the party, that's what I keep telling myself, it doesn't mean anything, it's just a day, and yet it's only 9:15 am and I already had to apologize to my mother, my daughter and my dog for not being a satisfactory birthday girl. But I did get a card from my cigarettes, which was thoughtful of them. A few weeks ago they gave me a tote bag too, made of recycled soda bottles and alarmingly ugly. My cigarettes are my true friends, apparently, either that or they can't believe I'm still alive, despite their best efforts to kill me off.

I got an email from the one old friend who always, always remembers my birthday. He said, "Where have the years gone? In my mind's eye I can still see the wafty bo-ho
artist fumbling around downtown charleston" and you know, so can I, and I really wonder where the hell she's gone too. Thanks, R.