It always rains on my birthday...

My first birthday present was a terrible night's sleep, threaded with narrative. I kept waking with bits of yesteday's story tangled in my hands, stuck to my mouth like hair. (And xst I need a haircut). My second was the rain. It smelled fantastic when I got outside this morning. At six-thirty. See under, no sleep.

I was going to go down to the ocean with all my extra time, but the rain made that unlikely, so I lurked in the cafes instead. I bought myself a hot chocolate and some Scratch N' Wins as a birthday present. I put in enough ambivalent magic to win a free ticket. I am satisfied. Then I went to La Dolce Vita and ate a bagel and worked on the poem of the month for November.

I don't know why I couldn't sleep. I don't have anything in particular planned for today, and as far as I recall I haven't actually mentioned my birthday to anyone, except in passing.

I'm 33 today. Good number. I like multiples of eleven. Numeric alliteration.

Happy All Soul's Day. Do something eerie and portentious. I mean to.

{rf}