Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
And many moooooorrreee!
I turn 33 today. If I survive to 34 I will have outlived my father, Alexander the Great, and Jesus.
The birthday has already been marred by tragedy. I had to put one of my dogs to sleep on Saturday. He tried to bite my baby. We tried to find him a shelter or a home after that, but no one would take a 12 year old yappy spitz-mix with a history of biting children. I feel like shit about it. I don't want to talk about it so please don't send me nice messages. Or "you awful dog killer" messages either. I appreciate kind thoughts and prayers, but it's still a bit too raw to hear about it from other people. I never thought I would have a worse birthday than the year I was in boot camp or the year we went to the Grand Ole Opry.
I'm just trying to make it through the day without my cow orkers remembering and making a big fuss about my birthday. Today would be a good day to be invisible.