Another year and I find myself having grown a little older. Yes, I am now considered to be in my mid-thirties. I am now officially 34 years old. That seems so old to me and I only know how closer 40 is...and how I will wish I were turning 34 instead of 40 when that day comes.
All in all it was a decent day. I don't know why I always expect my birthday to be something of glamor and excitement, but I always do, just like Christmas Day. These two days never quite hit the mark, but I love them both anyway.
For this year, I wish to have something published, or at least awarded a special prize of distinction. Something in which I can prove I am a writer. A good one, at that.
I also wish to lose enough weight where my current jeans size will be so enormous on my athletic frame that it will be quite shocking.
Don't worry: these weren't what I wished for when I blew out my candles at my mom's house...even though my daughter guessed what that one was. I have many other secret wishes, don't you fret.
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