The days of getting crazy on my birthday are over.

I'm convinced I'm a 70 year old man stuck in a 26 year old woman's body. The evidence to back my case? I like scotch.  I get all grumpy when the hoards of students get out of class at the same time on my campus, and I complain about "the youths" not being able to text and walk at the same time. My boss recently told me I make her feel young. I'm a curmudgeon. Not so long ago, my birthday celebrations matched my age better.  But this year my birthday drove home how lame I've become:  I was really, really looking forward to spending the weekend knitting, making dinner with my boyfriend, and watching movies.  Lock up your sons because this lady was getting wild!

Yeah not so much.  I didn't get crazy, but I did start working on a new knitting project! I made a 6 inch gauge swatch, and blocked it and everything. I hate doing this, so I'm giving myself a pat on the back right now. I also received a much appreciated and useful gift: a yarn bowl. Sadly a piece was broken when I opened it, but nothing some Epoxy couldn't fix.

So my days of waking up hungover after my birthday are gone, but so are my days of chasing yarn balls rolling around my floor.