Muharram and a New Moon

I woke a woman from dreaming earlier today (she told me so. I believe her) and find myself similarly pulled groggily from a deep nap to sit, on the last day of my 30th year, and type this out.

I have had a good year, a fine year. A long, full, happy year. Which is odd, as I write this, because by most standards-good, empirical, socially acceptable standards-my life is no better than it was on 1/7/07. I still work at a job that drives me crazy and doesn't come close to paying my bills. I am still persistently, unsuccessfully, lonely. I still fuck up on a regular basis, still fail and frustrate and judge and fear and countless other barriers and barricades I put in my way.

But for all that, it's OK. It really is. I get up every day and can't believe how confident and comfortable and...happy, I am. It's sort of ridiculous, actually. I have a terrible time as it is reconciling my day-to-day with y'all's, but even for myself, as successful as my own long-term gedankenexperiment seems to be...it still feels crazy. But I'm happy. Which, I imagine, is the only really important part.

And, to be fair, it is the lot of you that has contributed to this happy year I'm putting down tomorrow. I wonder, sometimes, whether I'm just lucky to know so many bright, sharp, capable strange people...or if everyone's that way, and you're just the ones I know? Either way, I think the world of each of you, and wouldn't have you any other way.

My birthday's tomorrow. Everyone's asked me what I'm doing...not much, I think. I'll probably get a little drunk, and a little maudlin, and I'll worry a little-with last year excepted, my birthdays are terrible. But I'll be home, and glad for any company. So if you feel like coming by and paying your respects to what will be one year closer to being my corpse...please, feel free.

I am regularly filled with a christ-like love for all creation.