I’m moving. Next week. To the opposite corner of the country.
So basically right now my mojo is like this:
And so far, 2015 has not been the vessel of hope and sanity that I was counting on. Not that I’m complaining; I think there’s good stuff going on, but it’s “good stuff” of this variety:
“Good stuff” that involves feeling kicked in the head, gut, or groin, or some combination of the three. Where even the genuinely good stuff feels sorta awful because, “Hey! Look at all these wonderful friends and experiences! I’m going 3,000 miles away now kthxbai.”
Then there’s the fact that I turn 37 this week. Thirty-seven, folks. I’m never one to gripe about getting older; as my buddy Pitbull says, “Any day above ground is a great day.” I remember that. But also:
Still, one is always reminded of how fortunate one is, really, and so one squares one’s shoulders and repeats the immortal words of Mindy Kaling:
Pass the berry lipgloss.