Let's just say that there was a girl, and that girl was spending her 40th birthday at a spa and pool. She was there to rest, and get her nails done and a facial and then set a *list of intentions* for this decade. She was told that today was an especially good time to do it because a new moon would be realized in her sign that day.
So, with the rain falling down outside, and a rare blissed-out thing going on, she left the confines of the spa with her journal and went to the hotel gift shop for a large, large latte. Snuggled by the fire she was relaxed, and ready to write. Write everything she had reflected on that day, how very different and wonderful her life was now since the last birthday, how many dreams were bubbling up to be realized.
And then, right around the time the new moon did its thing (1:44 pm) she managed to spilled scaling hot coffee down her pampered arm and the resort sofa. All over her favorite T-shirt.
Spoiler alert: that girl is me! And I'm sitting in a spa with an ice pack on my arm. Namaste bitches! And new moon: you and I need to have a word.
And, ladies and gentleman, the story of the most first world birthday ever.
40: I'm still a mess, the mess I was supposed to be. A good mess.
When I say things like, "I'm falling apart," a friend says, "You are falling together." Am I ever.
I have many more things to say, but right now am laughing and enjoying a few minutes of ice pack -- er -- spa time. This life!
Hi 40 -- we did it. Messes and all.