I'm not really big on celebrating birthdays. Not because I'm anti-fun (although I probably am *waves curmudgeonly fist*) but because it seems like it depresses people more than it cheers them up. Sure when you're eight and it's all presents and birthday cake, hell yeah let's do this thing! But when you turn forty, that's just a giving you a glimpse into the darkness of your own mortality. You take stock of your life and realize you'd better get cracking before it gets away from you.
*cue mid-life crisis*
I turned forty on the fifth of February. It hasn't caused a sudden breakdown nor do I particularly notice a difference between this one and the last dozen or so. The hair has silvered and I seem to have replaced peaceful slumber with...ummm...not sleeping but that's about it. I have my goals: write stories, lose weight and live to become the world's oldest mammalian lifeform. Beyond that, I don't particularly care about being forty any more than I cared about being twelve.
However, I received a card for my birthday that cracked my crabby shell and brought a big smile to my face. It was highly unexpected and very thoughtful and it came from the TWITTERVERSE!!
A lot of people malign Twitter but I can't. As a writer, it has provided me with piles of useful information, links, advice, contacts and suggestions. More importantly, and most unexpectantly, it introduced me to an incredibly generous group of people that I wouldn't normally get to interact with and whom I now consider friends.
My birthday card from the Twitterverse was a reminder to me that I know some really cool people. It has also shown me that I've somehow, disguised by a Spartan helmet, managed to infiltrate other lives across the internet to the point where they perhaps consider me a friend, and that is a nice feeling for this old coot.
|Happy Birthday ME!!|
So, a heartfelt thank you to @Valeriebrbr @kdmccrite @jennifergracen @KarenDeLabar @CathThackery and @LoganAlberts
And yes...I'm getting it framed.