The twelve days since my birthday have rough.
I caught strep on that happy day, and needed pretty much a full week to recover – even after taking two sick days (my first in almost a decade). I fell way behind on some urgent work while out of the office, and needed a solid week to catch up. Thanks in part to that illness, my first real bike ride in quite a while – a night ride with the guys earlier this week – was an unpleasant ordeal. And then yesterday, the grandma cat started throwing up and crapping all over. Turns out, she was horrendously constipated, and the vet needed quite a bit of money to get her cleaned out. (I hope I never hear the words "fecal balls" again.) The cost was worth it, but the black humor of a literally shitty end to the week isn’t lost on me.
Sunday will be two weeks since my birthday. I’m hitting the reset button on year #42 then.