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It’s my birthday.
Happy Birthday, me!
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There’s a lot to like about forty-four. Eleven was one of my favorite years, so this year could be four times better than that. I remember this green t-shirt from that year that I wore until it fell off me and now I’m in a junkyard dog shirt that’s ready to do the same thing. 
I’m a slob.
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My daughter, who hasn’t spoken to me for about a month now actually wished me a happy birthday today. She made me a mix tape, which I actually dig because whatever the fuck is wrong with her, her musical taste is very good, very eclectic and oddball and she always turns me on to some cool shit. 
So, good that.
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My beautiful wife. I’d rather have five minutes with her than a room full of treasure and a Genie in a lamp. If there is anything better than going to bed at night with someone who knows you, really knows you, and loves you anyway, loves you like a crazy freaking idiot, I don’t know what it could be.
It’s all I need or could ever wish for.
So. Good that, too.
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Also, duck breasts with orange chipotle sauce for dinner and a homemade chocolate birthday cake for after!
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Maybe I look sad in this drawing, but I’m not. A little care-worn is all.
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I am grateful for all of you who read here and share your shit with me. It brings me good cheer, without fail.
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Peace be upon you.
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