Well, here I sit, in my cubby-hole of an office, pretending to work. Actually I just dragged five boxes of catalogues half way across campus, so I'm not really pretending; I'm taking a breather.
I turned 28 on Friday and to be honest, I feel different. I can't remember a brithday when I felt signicantly older. Not 16, not 21, not 25. For some reason, though I FEEL like I'm getting older and that my life is, I don't know, slipping away from me. Maybe it's the gettting close to 30 thing. You know, don't trust anyone over 30. Well, what happens when I'm over 30? Of course the people who originated that expression are in their 50s and 60s. Does knowing that make turning less traumatic? Not really.

To be honest, birthdays don't usually do much for me. I don't enjoy celebrating them or making a big fuss about it, but this year I wanted something special. I wanted people to remember. And some people did, which was cool. Some people didn't, which is to be expected. I mean, I don't really know why I think people should remember or even know. How many of my friends and acquiantences' birthdays do I remember? A staggeringly lower number, I can tell you. Oh well. Perhaps I'll try to make an effort. You know, the ol' "Do onto others" thing. Maybe if I remember theirs, they'll remember mine. Maybe...