Beds are Burning

I do not sleep a great deal.

One of my greatest attributes, I would self-assess, is an ability to constantly find little things to look forward to. Find the fun in the trivial and the mundane.

So coffee's ready to go. All I gotta do in several hours is punch one button, and the brewing leprechauns will work their magic and make me a pot of black gold. And the day will start off glorious, despite a few billion sleepy synapses trying to slap themselves awake.

I am 33 for only a few dozen more hours. It has been a wonderful year. I am so sad about having to wait eleven more years for the next double-number. I am not sad about getting older. I am weary of people complaining about that. It's like complaining that we have to breathe oxygen instead of hydrogen - it's the way it is. That's what happens. Unless you are a character in an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, you get old. And you can either complain about it. Or not. I am awkwardly bumbling my way through the 30s and having a delicious time of it, surrounded by people I do not dislike. So there. Good night. Oh, and The Office season premiere tonight was a treat. As was 30 Rock. But then, anything with Tina Fey is a treat.