It's my birthday. Yay.

Totally excited, that's me.

Some friends are taking me drinking tonight. That's good.

My friend KZ in NYC used to do this thing where she'd give every year a goal and a name. I always liked that idea and I think this will be a good year to do the same. I know what I need to do, thanks to therapy and a lot of reflection. There is much to look forward to, and I need to think about those positives and work my ass off to get where I need to go.

I have to do this because H is having a VERY HARD TIME and he is letting me know it. It's hard to not fall back into old patterns of taking care of him. January is the test, when I have to be strongest. This is when we separate our belongings, when H looks for apartments, when he packs, when he leaves, and when Eepie leaves. I don't have the luxury of being weak.

First, I have to lose this tendency to spend my birthdays with hyper-alert raw nerve endings that make me cry at the drop of a hat: all "but it's my birthday". That's just silly. Birthdays, exist to celebrate another year that we're alive. So fuck all the birthday expectations and the "poor-me" feelings: I'm happy to be here. And that I'm still moving forward, or at least working really hard to do so. So, yay!