For the past couple weeks I’ve been thinking about how I wanted to spend my birthday.
I thought and thought and thought about it.
And then I decided I would rather be knitting so I sat on the couch and haven’t done anything since.
OK, that was a slight exaggeration, but I certainly didn’t think of anything I wanted to do for my birthday.
Birthdays for me have become just like all the other holidays you’re supposed to do something big for. It’s too much pressure.
But now I know what to do. Because it’s been on my lap the whole time: I want to knit for my birthday. That’s all. I want a nice evening of knitting.
Does that make me officially old?