...right up till the part when I realized I wasn't 32. Does anyone else do this faulty counting thing? I call it Delayed Counting Syndrome.
It happens whenever I'm trying to keep track of something that takes a while to progress. Like running laps on a track. I complete lap three, I'm starting out on the fourth lap and the whole time I'm rounding the track I'm thinking about how this is the fourth lap, obsessing about the number four and how it means I only have eight or twelve (or twenty four if you're someone who's not me at all) left to go, so by the time I hit the starting point again, I'm way past four and count it as five.
And then I'm obsessing about the number six for a good hundred meters until I realize, nope, that was four laps I just completed back there. This one's number five. It's all very confusing; sometimes I have to run a few extra laps at the end just in case.
Tell me this isn't just me.
So last night when it hit midnight I was conversing with the voices in my head about being thirty two and how fun a number that is and it took me a good five minutes before I realized that, no, this is just thirty one. I've been thinking about thirty one all week and apparently got so used to the idea that I moved right along to the next number once my birthday hit.
Although, come to think of it, it's a double humbug because technically I'm still only thirty until some ungodly hour of tomorrow morning, but that's another odd story in itself.
It's just me, isn't it. Yeah, don't tell me; I'd really rather not know.
:: a roasted Panera sandwich :: Anne Rice's INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE series :: How I Met Your Mother, season 1 :: a slew of delectably humorous cards from brilliant people :: girlie combat boots + knee socks from Mom and Dad (good choice, guys) :: sweet phone calls and e-mails and e-cards ::
So it turns out I'm having a good day after all. I suppose I can hang out at thirty one for a while.
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