Welcome To My Bed

Beginning again.

Photobucket


And so now I am a year older, just like that. Above, that's me, different in a way nobody can tell by looking at me, holding cards from my grandma and my Uncle John that I picked up from my box after the strangest yoga class of my life. There was definitely country music, which I am not opposed to in certain cases (like Ryan Adams), but doing yoga to country music just seems utterly ridiculous. And then there came a point where we had to tie our knees together and roll up the wall. It was odd, to say the very least. But, at any rate, I am already having an awesome day. And I know it will only get better. That is how today usually works.

A year ago today, I was a bald freshman at my first non-dorm party, dancing and drunk on a forty of Steel Reserve. I had eaten a pomegranate for breakfast on the quad, gotten my nose pierced, and bummed my Camel Filters to Sean before we were friends, finally feeling like I was worthy of talking to upperclassmen. Things are so different now, so much more settled. Last night I watched Casino Royale, my first Bond experience, with James. And he was the first person to say "happy birthday"; it reminded me that I haven't had somebody care about me the way he does on my birthday in a very long time. It's been since I was sixteen, a lifetime ago.

But even on birthdays, there is homework, and my job, and welding class tonight. No rest for the old. I'm glad I don't mind so much.