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As it happens, today's my thirty-ninth birthday. It's worth the note, although I've not got much, if anything, planned in the way of celebration. It is, after all, a school night tonight, and since I'm a teacher again, such things matter. Too, I have stuff to do tomorrow evening and after, and there's always work that needs my attention.
But there are some traditions I'm sure will hold. I expect I'll be yodeled at before too terribly long; it's something I look forward to, certainly, strange as it may seem. I also know what I'm getting for dinner tonight, unless something goes terribly sideways. (I acknowledge the possibility, although I hope it will not be the case.) So that much is nice.
Aside from that, though, it's not worth much more than the note that it happens. I know I "should" take more delight in it, but, really, I'm not in a position to do much of anything, and I'm not really desirous of doing much of anything. It might be nice to get a bit of rest, but, again, there's always work that needs my attention. I'd not be much if I didn't apply myself to it.