Selfish Saturday: Age is a prime number

quillThis day is my birthday, and this pendant is my husband’s present for it. We saw it the other week, at the country fair, and made a point of tracking down the jewellers in their town shop and getting it for the occasion. It’s a feather (the feather of Ma’at, perhaps?), but to us both, as soon as we saw it, it was a quill – and, as a writer who has suffered a lot of creative block this past year, mostly through health concerns, it was instantly a talisman to conjure creativity back.

It’s been a pretty hectic day. Husband needed to get into work for a few hours, so we got up about two hours earlier than we normally would on a Saturday. At least the young one slept in… I’d have pulled my hair out if he’d jumped out of bed like on any schoolday. Later we headed into town, combining lunch (Chinese buffet, yum!) and jewellery-shopping with errands at the post office and the library, and came back to crash for a couple of hours before heading out to festive dinner. Which kept us out for two-and-a-half hours, even though the place is a 10-minute walk from home. Busy night, long waits, two (different) alcoholic drinks, and here I am, pretty shattered. I suspect tomorrow will be spent in recovery from today. If not Monday too.

On the one hand, it’s good to actually celebrate. On the other hand, with each passing year I reach my breaking point with less and less celebration. I wonder if I’m growing old, plain and simple, or it’s ill health that’s taking its toll.

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