I’m having some trouble convincing myself that it isn’t Monday. Last Friday seems like ages ago. I spent the better part of the weekend in New York, or on the long stretch of roads between there and Pennsylvania, visiting home for Easter and my birthday, and taking a much needed day off from work. It was nice. I got to see my parents and my sister, who was home for spring break, they gave me some wonderful gifts, and I got to play with our dog, who has been sick but now seems to be coping reasonably well with arthritis and diabetes. I just wish I had taken more pictures, or that they were of something more interesting than the house and neighborhood I grew up in. There’s always Memorial Day, I guess.
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I’ve been twenty-five for about a week now, and it hasn’t killed me yet.