Yes, the birthday is technically over, but I haven’t stopped talking about it. I had a really great day and I got so many phone calls and messages that I felt so very loved. Of course thanks to facebook the whole world knew it was my birthday, or else half the people who sent me messages probably wouldn’t have known/remembered.
But I still appreciated all of them, from the interesting one liners like: “Happy Birthday gal!” (Hehe), to the longer, more flambouyant ones wishing me just about everything in life. But of course in true 8 yr old fashion, my favourite part was the gifts. First of all, when two of your dearest friends give you chocolate cake, you know it’s time to stop making your chocolate obbsession so public (or maybe not, then you can keep getting beautiful chocolate cakes, and brownies, and oreos…er, sorry). I also got the most amazing jewellry in the world, which I would probably never have picked out myself because I have no sense of adventure (says the girl who has mastered the art of jumping hedges to flee from drunk skunks). But I think what I love the most are the two blank notebooks my friend got me.
I know, I know, who gives blank notebooks as birthday gifts. But hey, it’s me we’re talking about. There’s something about blank notebooks. No lines, no restrictions, no one hinting at where to write or how much. I’ve always wanted to draw (the only thing preventing me being my lack of talent, EXTREME lack). But I call these my sketch books, partly because any word that even remotely sounds like the word “sketchy” pleases me thoroughly, but also because there’ve been so many times when I’ve needed to sketch a story but just couldn’t find blank paper. I like lines, I like rules, I like things that keep you in check and keep things orderly. But not with words. Now I can construct my stories and poems and interpret others’ with no boundaries. I completely love the freedom my words will begin to have, and all because of two blank notebooks.
Happy birthday to me. Off to have breakfast: a huge slice of chocolate cake. Yes, I’m an irresponsible, unhealthy twenty year old.
Yes, the birthday is technically over, but I haven't stopped talking about it. I had a really great day and I got so many phone calls and messages that I felt so very loved. Of course thanks to facebook the whole world knew it was my birthday, or else half the people who sent me messages probably wouldn't have known/remembered.
But I still appreciated all of them, from the interesting one liners like: "Happy Birthday gal!" (Hehe), to the longer, more flambouyant ones wishing me just about everything in life. But of course in true 8 yr old fashion, my favourite part was the gifts. First of all, when two of your dearest friends give you chocolate cake, you know it's time to stop making your chocolate obbsession so public (or maybe not, then you can keep getting beautiful chocolate cakes, and brownies, and oreos...er, sorry). I also got the most amazing jewellry in the world, which I would probably never have picked out myself because I have no sense of adventure (says the girl who has mastered the art of jumping hedges to flee from drunk skunks). But I think what I love the most are the two blank notebooks my friend got me.
I know, I know, who gives blank notebooks as birthday gifts. But hey, it's me we're talking about. There's something about blank notebooks. No lines, no restrictions, no one hinting at where to write or how much. I've always wanted to draw (the only thing preventing me being my lack of talent, EXTREME lack). But I call these my sketch books, partly because any word that even remotely sounds like the word "sketchy" pleases me thoroughly, but also because there've been so many times when I've needed to sketch a story but just couldn't find blank paper. I like lines, I like rules, I like things that keep you in check and keep things orderly. But not with words. Now I can construct my stories and poems and interpret others' with no boundaries. I completely love the freedom my words will begin to have, and all because of two blank notebooks.
Happy birthday to me. Off to have breakfast: a huge slice of chocolate cake. Yes, I'm an irresponsible, unhealthy twenty year old.
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