seven minutes

seven minutes to go.
I feel privileged to blog my birthday
when others are suffering under the heat of
councils and conventions

six minutes to go.
it’s a strange feeling to notice my aging.
others notice a graying spot on my head.
in public.

five minutes to go.
I haven’t analysed the situation I’m presently in very often.
I haven’t contemplated why I haven’t volunteered as a human shield.

four minutes to go.
is the pain in my neck a sign of stress, a sign of bad posture, or a sign of age?
is the need to max out my private healthcare a sign of the times or a sign of compulsory treatment?
is the desire to not have to analyse every part of life one of laziness or utter frustration?

three minutes to go.
who would have known
that a pleasure this immense
was logged deep in my own mind and eager to be released so often.

two minutes to go.
exhaustion is something I don’t need before I embark on a journey
a quarter around the world, and I’m still planning on being cheap
when money is nothing but currency. it has no value. only memories do.

one minute to go.
I wish there was a logic to figuring out life’s plans.
as that appropriately placed lyric of destiny’s said, “everything will be alright tomorrow.”
just that tomorrow is now here. what to do? where to go? what to see? who to know?

my birthday has arrived: I’m 23.