I came, I saw, I turned 35. I had a good meal, I socialised with friends, and got slightly miffed by someone being an ass. The latter was a minor dent on an otherwise stellar day, but I had a good whine about it on the way home and feel oodles better. I think. *chuckles*
But really, it was mainly grand that my birthday actually fell on the rare night that I’m actually out; I am social once a week with predominately the same group of crafters. There was cake, there was chatter, and very little knitting on my part. Which is fine, I was more there to eat cake and to be feted. My birthday was the one day of the year growing up I was allowed to celebrate myself. I realised today that was a sort of gaslighting for how shit/sporadic the rest of the year was treatment-wise (Leonard’s Day from The Big Bang Theory, anyone?). It didn’t rob me of my enjoyment though. I allowed myself to exist, and to permit people to love on me for existing. It felt pretty good on the whole.
Tiny photo dump of childling + pressie haul
That’s about it, really. It’s late and I’m tired, so I am going to bed.