and there are storms we cannot weather.

I think it's the fatigue. I know I'm pretty happy, but I haven't slept in days. Actually, I started that sentence yesterday and forgot about it. I went to bed at 12:40 last night. I woke up at 6. Fucking insomnia. It hasn't been like this in years.

Then again, I'm usually doing something. Talking to people. Writing. Something. That's pretty okay with me.

Mary operates in kind of a general altruism. It serves her, and it doesn't. Mary refers to herself in the third person, and sometimes she keeps her thoughts to herself.

I'm always in the weirdest mood around my birthday. Thankfully, I've had two very specific things to keep my mind off of it, and a plethora of people. I forgot it was tomorrow. Oh god. I actually feel unwell about that prospect. That's okay, though. I'm not going to tell anybody.

Here's some backstory. I don't give backstory very often, because I don't think of it very often. In an ideal world (for my parents), I'd have been conceived on their wedding night, which means I would have been born in late September (or August, because I was premature). Of course, in that ideal world, I'd be turning 36 this year. I'd probably be married, a lawyer, and Catholic. I'd probably be boring. That or I'd be dead. These are some interesting thoughts. I'm glad I'm where I am now. I feel like I have a purpose. I feel like I have more than one. I feel like I'm around the people I need to be. I feel like I have people to love. (Love is the law, bitches.)

It's the first time in a long time that I'm not horribly depressed. I'm exhausted, and a tiny bit stressed, not to mention my body seems to hate me, but I'm still happy, smiling, and I want to live. I could attribute that to one of two people, or I could attribute it to me, I'm not arrogant. Thanks, guys.