I turned 52 this week. I had planned to take a half personal day and spend the afternoon reading in bed, but had to can that idea because of work shenanigans. It was, actually, a pretty exhausting day. We'd been up in Ithaca quite late the night before at a Sturgill Simpson concert (on a school night! But it was fabulous). Then on my birthday Michael needed the car to go to an appointment in Ithaca, so I decided to catch the bus to work. I've walked often, but never bussed, so my timing was all off and as I got to Main St in the misty dark at 7am, the bus was just whizzing by. So I walked in moderately inappropriate shoes and a skirt, going fast so I didn't get cold.
Then I taught for 3 hours, an intense lesson where the students had to identify and discuss their political beliefs. I do not do this kind of lesson sitting down and I was fully engaged, except for the part of me that kept rehearsing the things I wanted to say in my afternoon meeting, the one I'd cancelled my birthday alone time for. Sometimes the things I said in my head were reasoned and professional, but sometimes I practiced losing my shit.
Turns out I only needed to lose my shit a little bit, apologize professionally, then get back to business, and everyone was fine with it because other people lost their shit even worse. We all did end up getting some very productive work done, but like the morning, it was intense and required my full engagement.
The rest of the day was walking in the woods, pizza, Lady Dynamite (only the best new TV show ever), manhattans, ran-out-of-baking-chocolate-so-would-you-like-oatmeal-raisin-cookies-instead-of-the-cake dessert [yes, yes I actually would like that very much], opening my genius scratch-off world map present from Ella, then into bed by 9pm. I didn't even have time to ponder my mortality much at all.