But I'm really 37.
This is last year's birthday.
This year we went to Razoo's for dinner, and oh my yum.
I bought myself a smash book for my birthday, and this is the scrappiest thing in there so far. Everything else is pretty bad, but hey, we all gotta re-start somewhere, right?
This has been more of a "red pen" week, then a "red letter" week. It's been kinda rough, and feels like it's just been full of opportunities for personal correction. I got a monstrous cold sore yesterday, so I'm thinking that I pretty much failed at making good choices.
One of my co-workers asked me if I'd named the cold sore yet.
I hadn't named it, but I did with a quickness that only those with a penchant for quirkiness would understand. I named it "Esperanza."
I think that is quite possibly the most beautiful name in the world.
It means hope. But it sounds like starry, miraculous, fairy-tale come true hope.
So I'm taking the nasty, sickening blight on my countenance and naming it after something beautiful.
That's weird, right? But its fitting, somehow. .
