Hooray, I'm twenty-nine today. I've been visiting relatives and it's been a crap day all day. Blech. Oh yeah, and I think it's Greywar's birthday too. Woot.
I've always thought that a birthday would be a great day to kill yourself if you had the inclination. I always had a bit of an admiration for people that managed to die on their birthday. Kind of mystical. Or maybe just cosmicly tidy. Mark Twain, did, didn't he? Shakespeare's credited for it, but nobody really knows the exact day he was born, so it's close, but who knows?
Not actively suicidal tonight or anything, just been having a bad decade or three.