It might be great to divorce oneself from the process of earmarking dates like birthdays for critical self-evaluations and performance reviews. A solid inventory from time to time is useful enough but annual self-flagellation rituals go a long way towards spoiling a day that might otherwise be festive. The icing on the cake might not taste as bitter. It only makes it worse that the number of birthdays ahead is lessening. Not that the next one is ever guaranteed but if we're talking about odds then it's less likely one will be around this time next year. Hell, who would have imagined 55 anyway?
I am considering a very honest, public inventory this year. It would be a list of my expectations of where I might have been at 55 weighed against where I actually am. This might, at the very least, offer an accurate portrayal of what my world looks like at 3am. It might show better why I don't sleep. I'm not really sure what the point of that would be but what is the point of any of this? I'm just cleaning house here most days. Why hoard feelings? It's like hoarding gravity. They make it harder and harder to stand up.
So we shall see.
I'm not enamored of the idea of birthdays anyway, though you'd never know it by the way I prattle on. Superstition, I guess, or echoes. They kick shit up.