September 17, 2014


Hey, it's my 33rd birthday.

As I sit here in my fluffy purple robe drinking peppermint tea, not getting ready for work like I should be, I am reflecting on what all this means.

Well, it's heightening pressure to start having babies, asking directly and without apology for what I want, smile-related wrinkles, being smarter about how to be happy, much much more courage, creativity and growing awareness, knowing more about how things work or how they could, brushing up against real life, a dawning realisation that young stuff is not pitched at me now, a bit of a sad feeling (today) and a lot of a feeling like I'm the very luckiest person.

This is a picture that I found of me and I think I must have been about 22 or 23 when it was taken.  I think that that chick would be really excited to hear what's in store for her.  And really, what more could I ask?

These days, I have a penchant for loud shirts, red lipstick and trying unsuccessfully to recreate Caroline de Maigret's hair.  Also, I'm just a floating torso now.

I met this cheeky fellow.

I have a career that I am proud of, although writing case notes sucks to the max (see, still young).

And this happened.  We got married just the way we wanted to.  Rachel Rose made my dress which I will love forever and Bario Neal made our rings, which we never get sick of looking at on our hands.

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