True to form, yesterday was the second most depressing day of the year for me.
You see, it was the day after my birthday. I know I'm old enough now that birthdays shouldn't mean that much to me, but lately they've meant more to me than ever. That's because on my birthday, of all the days in the year, I can count on getting a break.
This year's break was awesome. Jeremy woke up with Miriam and took her to the zoo before I even got out of bed. I woke up at 9.45, which is the latest I've slept in several years (not counting incidents of jet-lag or illness, although I think even counting illness, this was pretty late). I showered and dressed without having to simultaneously entertain a tiny person, and then ate breakfast at my leisure, away from the kitchen table (!!!). Then, finding myself with some free time, I thought carefully and judiciously what I wanted to spend it on and decided to...
...clean the house.
I'm not kidding - to quote Emperor Kuzco, it was "my birthday gift to me!" And it was a very nice gift, in a way, to be able to go from room to room at a decent pace, without Miriam trailing behind me. I used dangerous cleaning chemicals, not having to worry about if she was in the room. And best of all, she wasn't right there with me, creating a mess as quickly as I had cleaned one up.
Definitely one of the best birthday gifts ever.
Then it was back to reality when they came home from the zoo. Jeremy had class, a presentation at a conference, and then a soccer game. But my birthday was nice while it lasted.
ps - the most depressing day of the year for me is generally the day after Christmas. In a desperate bid to remedy the situation, in high school, some friends and I declared December 26 to be "Festivus," but then we still had December 27 to deal with.