My edits, my birthday, and God am I that young?

This morning I woke up to my 27th Birthday. I woke up early because the dog next door was barking its head off.?

And I woke because I wanted to get stuck in to the edits of my debut crime novel (being published by the fab Northodox Press).?

Nearly finished.?

But mostly, I woke up because I wanted to get used to the idea being shaven-headed and arthritic at a mere 27 years old.?

Not even 30, dammit.?

It's funny how young you can feel when you're still in the land of nod.?

When you can't tell the difference between dreams and nightmares.?

When the age of your body bears no resemblance to the age in your brain.?

When the numbers 7 and 2 get discombobulated to such an extent that they can't remember which one comes first.?

When you can't tell whether the pills you take are for a mere headache...or a large dollop of arthritis.?

Oh well...I suppose I'll have to open these mysterious pressies, cut an extra large wedge of this delicious-looking care, and pour myself another large, strong, black coffee.

And thank all my wonderful friends for remembering that today is my 27th birthday.?

And for commenting on how young and wrinkle-free I look.?

Thank you...and I love you all.?

Till the sun stops shining, and the moon loses its magnetic pull...