Well, let me specify. I'm odd (as a person) and I'm odd (in birth years).
If you've known me long, you know of my aversion to odd numbers. They're almost as hateful as vegetables, but not quite.
So, as life would have it, every other year, I wake up to an odd number on my birthday. I feel dread as soon as I open my eyes. Odd is a hard number to carry around for an entire year.
For reasons I can't really wrap my words around, yesterday (my birthday) didn't feel so dreadful. It was actually awesome. In an ordinary sort of way. I can't figure out why that is. Maybe my subconscious has decided to embrace my inner odd and go with it. I mean, why not?
And as promised, I puzzled. Oh, how I puzzled. I'm not even going to tell you how many hours. But I will mention this: I finished it. Yes, I'm a rock star. I told the Favorite Baby Child that I would autograph her arm.
I also have something to tell you. It leaves me breathless, so I'll have to go slow.
Just thinking about it makes me hyperventilate.
I might need some kind of support group. Or a championship title match. With a big, honkin' trophy at the end. That would be superb.
You know I collect random, off the road, acorns, right? Odd enough?
This is going to be my fave.
For like, ever.
Odd has never felt so even.