You know, I never really think about my age unless someone asks me how old I am. After a while they all start to blend together.
So far I've spent my birthday baking a cake and finishing up cleaning house for grandmother (dad's mom, so you know mom wants it looking extra spiffy for the MIL). I'm about to get back to it.

I also got up the nerve to email P to ask if he'd take a look at my work. He wrote me back this time (unlike the last two emails) so now I'm even more terrified. This means that there is indeed an answer to that yes-or-no question, so I'm not reading it 'til tomorrow. Bad news on Thanksgiving? Meh. Bad news on my birthday? No no no.