I’m not quite ready for it to be June. For a couple of reasons.
Monday, the 5th, will mark one year that I’ve been in Portland. It’s been quite a year. I have rather mixed feelings about the fact that I’ve been here a year. I don’t regret having moved here, but it’s not exactly been amazingly wonderful. Not that I quite expected that it would be. I mostly knew what I was getting myself into. Someone who’s only known me for a week told me last night that it was pretty clear that I needed not to be here, that this was clearly not the place for me right now.
At the other end of the month is my birthday. Not that I feel all oh-woe-is-me-I’m-getting-older. Age is just a number. Thing is, I find that everyone always makes a much bigger deal out of my birthday than I do, which always kind of bugs me, and when I do try to make a big deal out of my birthday, it seems to have a tendency to fall flat on its face.
So I’m not having a birthday party. I’m having a St-Jean-Baptiste Day party instead. Not that I ever did much for it when I was living in Montreal, but it’s conveniently on a Saturday this year, between the first day of summer and my birthday (well, it’s always between the first day of summer and my birthday…). And my roommate and I have been saying since we moved into the apartment in October that we should have a party. So, you’re all invited, of course.
And now I must go shower and try not to be too hung over and go get my hair cut.
Then I’ll come home and nap. Mmm…bed.
Oh, did I mention that I had to close both stores last night, one right after the other? It was great. (sarcasm!) And I get to do it again on Sunday.