Turning Thirty and Getting the Hell Out

Today is the day of my birth. I expect (though I do not know) that it will be spent mostly in improvised chaos, and I'm looking forward to it. Friends are here to see me, to celebrate together, and my sister has taken the reigns in planning whatever goes on. I virtually ignored my birthday last year, and these feels like making up for lost time in more ways than one.

But tomorrow I leave for Italy for a two-week trip, and some things are just begun. For those two weeks, I'll have limited access to interblogginet, but plan to keep writing entries and saving them to my thumbdrive, uploading them as I come across internet cafes where I can actually speak enough Italian (or they enough English) to buy time. (Buying time?) So they'll not be dated properly by Blogger; look for the in-text date.

The beauty of time, I suppose, is that it goes on no matter what. I'm grateful for it, however it may age me. It gives the motion and the pauses meaning, and lets friends know how long they've been.

And it gives me an excuse, just for a moment, to be sappy on ma 'blog.