I turned my Facebook off yesterday to avoid the birthday greetings, but a number of people found out how to wish me a Happy Birthday anyway, so thanks. And Moose dropped by the house last night and outed me, so Vanessa and the kids (including the adult kids) found out.
In case I haven't mentioned this in an earlier blog post, I don't care for holidays in general , and holidays in which I figure as a main character particular. There is ONE exception to that, which is January 1. I love that holiday.
Okay, so I'm 63. That's 3x3x7, or 9x7. The number 9 is the first non-prime odd number, and 7 is the perfect number in some numerology systems, but I really can't find any significance in there.
How many years is 63? One way to look at it is to measure the distance from my birth to now, and count BACKWARDS from my birth that same number of years, we arrive at 1890; in other words, the distance from 1890 to my birth is the same distance from my birth until now. And, if we postulate (just for fun; I believe I've passed the half-way mark) that I have lived exactly half my life, then I will live to see the year 2079.
I don't know what any of that means, or if it has any symbolic value at all. I rather doubt that it does.
So, now, I turned Facebook back on, and lots of people are saying 'sorry for yer belated birthday.'
It's not your error; I took my page down.
Look, I didn't do anything on my birthday. If you MUST honor it, tell my mother., She did all the work.
But thanks, anyway.
And sorry for making you think you forgot. (This is the worst blog post I ever wrote, by the way, in terms of incoherence.)