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Every year, without fail, I am surprised by my own birthday. This is not a fishing exercise or a bit of mock humility. It’s almost pathological. I’m heading up the road to visit my 82-yo mother today to celebrate, but yesterday, I didn’t think about it once. This morning, I was alerted because I began getting social media notices. It’s like not even the date alerts me.

I don’t think this is that unusual, but every goddamn year?

Fifty-eight. Ugh.

P.S. The snow is already gone.