Happy Birthday to me. I'm 25 today.

I received a call from the head of my office here in Chicago. He called to wish me a happy birthday. It was a little strange, as I've never had a conversation with this man before, but was nice.

It has been a long, but good year. I got married, got hired, and sorted a lot of things out. For the first time, I've got a solid idea of what the next few years will bring. This is a little shocking to me, as I have a historical precedent of overhauling my life every couple years. I'm sure that, a few years ago, I would have laughed at the idea of an existence that is regular like clockwork.

My birthday seems to have been muted by the age of my wife and her friends. Since they're all older than I am, mention of my birthday usually summons rounds of, "Awwww, twenty-five? That's sooo cute!" or, "I remember twenty-five. I was so young back then." Not that I'm being trivialized, but it simply seems to point out that I'm considerably younger than they are, and I should be shunned for being in elementary school while they were sneaking cigarettes and fucking each other. I will inevitably get my revenge when I'm being a dirty old man in a nursing home while they're all very, very dead.

There are no plans for my birthday just yet, as we're very poor people. Transatlantic flights, while they were on my list, will certainly not materialize. Instead, maybe some sushi with my wife. Like I said, the clockwork life is sweet.