Christmas is also my birthday, and when I was little, the two had to be separated (Jesus' birth (and Santa) in the morning and my birth in the afternoon) because I would get sick with excitement.
Yesterday, I was watching this old woman walking through the snow toward Jewel, and she was going so, so slowly that probably most of her waking hours were taken up by getting groceries, and I thought three things:
1) How awful that this is going to happen to me someday.
2) How awful that I am now able to process the idea that it will happen to me someday when not so long ago I thought maybe aging would be nice, or at least okay.
3) Maybe it actually is kind of nice. You wake up, and you go to the grocery store, and that is your day.
I've never been someone to spend my birthday bawling in the bathroom. Maybe because Christmas has been distracting enough that it's interfered with my ability to self-obsess. It's going to need to get funner, though, because I'm getting better and better at thinking only of me, me, me.