Monday, January 16, 2012

thirty-eight on me

It turns out, the longer you stay away, the harder it is to come back.  Even a (momentarily) forgotten password.

It turns out, radio silence isn't silent.  The clawing static is deafening.  At first you think of ways to quiet the din, but later it becomes a type of white noise you shout over, never noticing your rising voice, the hints of hysteria.

It turns out, thirty-eight is a quiet birthday.  A birthday blanketed in white snow and ice crystals.

It turns out, even at thirty-eight, that damn chocolate cake is still cursed --- this time it's a double dose of salt.  Cake was salvaged.... but ocean-y.

It turns out, that cake is the only thing that makes you curse. 

It turns out, you miss this creamy space something fierce.  The people in it, especially.


Alicia said...

Happy birthday, Whimsy! Brad is right behind you with the 38.

(not the .38, which would be something different and far more creepy)

Sara Hammond said...

Honestly, my first thought when I opened my reader this morning was "Yay, new Creamery post!" Glad you can work through the password delays to say hi! Happy birthday! P.S. Never, ever would have guessed that was the next birthday!

serenity now said...

"Happy, happy birthday, Whimsy dear! Happy days will come to you all year . . ."