Though I don’t quite know the exact day Luna was born, I know it was some time in late August of 1999. This means a cat I adopted shortly after I graduated from college is now 21 years old. I had just brought Luna home. When I stop to think about it, that’s a staggeringly long time. Up until now, the oldest cat I’d ever seen was my grandma’s cat Boo-Boo, a beautiful Russian Blue she found playing in one of her wood piles one day.
People are so blind to their own flaws. Through certainly no bastion of saintliness, I try to at least remember to listen. It’s better to be wrong and learn, than remain steadfast in my ignorance. And there is always so much left to learn. May there be so many mistakes yet to come. On the cusp of my 41st birthday, it’s inevitable that a certain amount of melancholy or nostalgic regret seizes my attention.
First, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who managed to come to the party on the 22nd. Richard and Bettina, you didn’t drink nearly enough, but you provided me with reading material, so all is forgiven. Ryan J, I still can’t believe you only broke two of my ITG records; it’s surreal. I’ll try to enjoy your shot glasses, since they’re the first ones I’ve ever owned (at 30, go figure).
At precisely 11:16PM tonight, I’ll have persisted upon this world for a grand-total of three decades. To understand the true significance of this, I believe I should clarify. I was born on September 18th, 1977 in Washington State, and since that day, life hasn’t taken kindly to my presence. Two months passed, and I went into congestive heart failure; not a heart-attack exactly, but hint enough I wasn’t meant to live.