Since you've insisted. And I like being insisted.

Someone asked me how I'm spending my birthday evening, and in lieu of a long email, I share here instead.
Within the last ten minutes I have:

drank the slenderest sip of the best whiskey I've tasted in my life, looked at photos of one woman on my front porch coated in baby powder and two women in an ultra-skeezy motel room slathered in glitter, listened to (and full-heartedly agreed with) Lena Horne's Coax Me a Little Bit in these genius-made whitenoise-cancelling headphones, answered the kindest email from a high school companion with whom I had little but lovely friendship, read through and felt extremely grateful for the genie bottle full of birthday wishes that is the internet tonight, and kicked myself in the pants for not being talented enough to truly make the most out of the over-generous artists who allowed me to create with them this weekend.

So happy birthday to me. I'm thirty-six!

Whoever said that time moves more quickly as you age has never lived a day in my shoes.
My days pass like the tree grows. Each day seeing a new side of the same leaf.

How did I get this lucky? How? How? How? How?

(Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I just want to ask.)

I feel like this looks. (shot yesterday)