I have always been a little superstitious, especially about numbers. Even numbers are better than odds, though for some reason, sevens are lucky. I’d rather the year was 2014 than 2015, and I’d rather be 34 years old than 33. Also nonsense, like, what happens on New Years or a birthday speaks to what will come in the year ahead. Nothing in my experience backs up my superstitions: twenty-five was one of the best years of my life; while twenty-four was one of the most painful. I don’t believe in fate, but these silly things still get to me.
My birthday is on Sunday. Getting older has never bothered me, but this year I have to work over the weekend and the Mister will be away for school. In the past, I would have gone off on a trip or taken a dance class or invited a bunch of friends over for dinner, so I’m a little frustrated to be stuck working at home. Is it a bad omen about the year ahead? Most likely not, and we have belated birthday plans in California in a couple of weeks. Still, it’s like a little raincloud over my head that I just can’t seem to shake off.