Well, it's my birthday today. My mother is going to be surprised, let me tell you that. I hope she's alright. It must have been hard enough for her to give birth to me as a baby, but now I'm 28 years old ... I think I'd better give her a call to make sure.
I wasn't even going to tell anybody about it, but several people have already let the secret out.
Now, I'm not sure what to think because, on the one hand, I am older today than I have ever been before, but on the other, today is the first day for the rest of my life. Certainly today will be a day just like any other day, but then again, I've got to seize the day, to live in the now, until the now slips into the then. I've got to be careful about this and plan for tomorrow, but then again, tomorrow never comes. Or does it?
Today and today and today
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
Shakespeare had it right, the old bastard - and even if he didn't write this, he should have. Today is a trap because, every new day we wake up in is today, and all the joys that tomorrow promises become the mindless reality of today. It's like Groundhogs Day, except there's no way out, there's no escape from this gaping void of nothingness, this endless succession of TODAYS, no escape at all, except for ...
Would you excuse me while I just nip into the next room and blow my brains out?
Ah, that's better. There's nothing like Ending It All to Make You Feel Like New. Anyway, happy birthday to me and all that. Here's a story I wrote last night. It's for Gem, because even though she stole my birthday, she was nice about it. Bless you, one and all. Now I just have to go and sweep up the shattered fragments of my brain in the other room ...
He was born too early and she was born too late. They arrived on the same day, and there things might have ended if they had died on that day as well. But stories are rarely this simple and life never is.
They were total strangers to one another, as people who have never met or spoken often are. Nevertheless, it chanced that one day they happened to run into one another at a cafe, and formed a mutual bond of difference.
He was German and she was French, so they compromised and communicated in Mongolian. Neither of them could speak a word of this language, so they found that this was one thing which they could agree upon. They began to tell one another details of their separate lives, which they were both very pleased to discover they had.
He explained that he had been born into a Mannheim firm of Lion Tamers, and had run away with a troupe of travelling accountants to see the world and perform daring financial transactions for multinational businesses. She happily talked about her fulfilling career as a music therapist to abused pachyderms. They were both happy to discover that they shared nothing in common, and therefore agreed to stay in touch and see if they would grow older at the same rate, or whether it was just a coincidence.
The year passed slowly. Spring sprang and then Summer came and it turned into Sprung. Autumn shoved Summer out of the way and stayed there for three months. Then Winter fell with a thud that caused everyone to wake up with a horrible start. He realised that he had promised to give her a call but had forgotten her number. She remembered his phone number but that she forgot why she was going to call. So she went round to his house and knocked on the door.
So the years passed in this manner, and time progressed as well. She began to have her twenty third birthday over and over again. He began to save his days using the local banks 'Daylight Savings' account, until he had plenty of extra hours. So both of them lived for a very, very long time.
As bad luck would have it, they died on the same day as well. It is impossible to tell whether they were the same age when they died, or if she beat him in the end, since neither were able to talk to me. All I know is, he was so forgetful that he didn't turn up for his own death, and that she insisted that it be put off for later, since she was visiting family at the time. In the end, Death had to go round to their houses, sit down with them, and explain in a calm, reasonable voice that they had to come with him; if they weren't able to come to their funerals, who else would he get, at this late hour? They all agreed that it would be terribly inconvenient. And, in the end, Death didn't seem to be that big. (A bit chubby around the stomach area, yes, but that was only to be expected when you had been around for an eternity, like Death had.)
Now, where was I? I've no idea. I could go on for ages, and I probably will, but look at that!
So you won't hear anything more out of me.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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