Mourning the death of my mixer.Thursday was the 44th anniversary of the day of my birth (fancy way to say it was my birthday). Day 1 of my 45th year of life. Like the day of my birth, the day was a bit stressful. I was 8 lb 5 oz, and my mom was a petite thing at barely 5’1″. My fat head was stuck in her pelvis, and apparently the only way to save one or both of us was to do an emergency Cesarean. As I struggled to make my way into the world 44 years ago, I struggled to make my way through the day on my birthday. I can imagine the next 36 hours after my birth, I was pretty exhausted – as most babies are. Well the next 36 hours after my 44th birthday, I felt much the same and kept longing for the work day to be over.

I ended day two of my 45th year with my husband at a little corner bar called G-Ducks, where our friends’ band ONE15 was playing. I had shared the Facebook invite several times and even mentioned my birthday. I don’t normally throw guilt trips around, but I have to say to the multitude of local “friends” on Facebook, “Where were you?” I know it’s the first day of spring break in our area so I tried giving the benefit of the doubt that maybe people had family plans. By coincidence, the friends who were there were friends and family of the band members already.

It’s all good, though! I had a good time. Well, with the exception of some chick who thought her shot at the pool table trumped my photo op that I was already poised and focused, ready to capture. She expected me to get out of her way and was clearly irritated when I didn’t immediately move but said “Hang on” nicely as I took my shot. I saw her much later at a table glancing over her shoulder at me and miming taking a photo with a cell phone as she was clearly relaying the story to her guy friend. We made eye contact, and I smiled with a slight smirk and tiny shake of my head as if to say, “Get over it already!” Sad to know that these are the things people choose to hold on to. <sigh>

Moving on to day three of my 45th year of life. I woke up with a splitting headache, which I believe is purely coincidental and not just a hangover since I only had three draft beers last night. So I guzzled some water, made coffee, and started to make buttercream frosting for the cupcakes I made yesterday. As I was waiting for the water andΒ Meringue powder to come together and form stiff peaks in my KitchenAid mixer, something popped and clattered inside and the damn thing just died. It’s only MAYBE two years old and is very gently used. Why??? So my cupcakes sit naked in the kitchen while I sit with head pounding in front of this computer avoiding anything resembling work of any kind as this is, after all, day one of my vacation.

Written by Sheila K

I don't believe humans truly have a purpose. Our goal is to survive until we expire. Period. Joy is pleasurable and worrying is not. Balance in life is crucial; but if the scales must tip, may they tip on the side of joy. I’m just another human trying to survive. I blog because I can and because I enjoy it, not because it serves any purpose.

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