I am quite certain that Scotch and soda and a Dilly bar for dinner are a sign that blogging tonight is a serious mistake. But, I have it heavy on my chest so I have to say it.

Tomorrow is my 47th birthday. In many ways I feel 33. In many ways I feel 97. I want to take on every single broken thing and fix it with my own bare hands. And yet, some mornings, I require a pep talk to put both shoes on.

This year though, it is not about my bad hip, my throbbing-perpetually-sleep-deprived brain, or...