It's Friday Again. Funny How That Happens Every Seven Days

So, 36 years ago I was born in a hospital in Arlington, Texas. To all you youngins out there, birthdays become a lot less fantastic as you get older. I've said for a while now that I don't even think a birthday is giving credit in the right place. I pretty much had nothing to with being born. Today I even feel the urge to send my parents a thank you card. "Thanks for having sex, guys. 'Preciate ya!"

If nothing else, at least in my case, my birthday has become an anniversary of another kind. For a long while it has been more of a "Yay, I made it this many years and managed to not die in a horrible, fiery crash or succumb to illness!" The latter is especially true after the last year I've had (the former I feel most often when being a passenger in the car while child/friend/relative drives. Seriously bad drivers).

Plus, the older you get, the less your employer cares. I have to go to work today instead of sit around and think thankful thoughts of my dad's potent sperm and my mom's obliging egg. Do you ever consider what if YOUR egg had been ovulated out and some other egg got the brass ring instead? Okay, maybe it's just me.

On a different note, my new MS has had some interest. A couple of agents have asked to read it. I'm too nervous to be excited. They might pass on it, but at least it is catching people's eyes.

I hope everyone has a fun and safe holiday weekend!