It’s my birthday. Go Claire, it’s my birthday.

It is approximately 5 hours from the day of my birth. I have mixed feelings about that which I won’t go into it.

I will, however, tell a random story:

In the middle of the night, some 27 years ago, my mother’s water broke. She rolled over and shook my father awake. He groggily woke up and asked what was going on. My mom told him the situation.

He said, “I’ll call a cab.” and rolled over and went back to sleep.

To his credit, one second later he realized what she had said, bolted upright and ran to get dressed.

I was born approximately 12 hours later.

I like to keep my birthdays low-key. I’m a rather private person in general, and just tend to downplay it. No big celebration or anything tomorrow.

In other news: I have my laptop on the couch and my phone on the TV table. When I want to connect to the internet I have to move the phone cord from phone to laptop. And every single time, Ramona freaks. If she’s on the couch she frantically runs away. And I can’t figure out why.

That’s all I got. Carry on.

It’s my birthday. Go Claire, it’s my birthday.