It's My F---ing Birthday [antikvár]

Well, it's art.y fuckino birthday again. One year ago today I remember being so sure that this was the year that everything would turn around. I could sense it. I could feel it in the air. But here I am, a full year later, just as screwed up as ever, still making the same mistakes over and over. So I am initiating a new tradition. My plan is to carefiilly scrutinize my past in the name of not being condemned to repeat it by writing myself an annual report on my birthday. Kind of a personal state of the union to help me chart my profits and losses or at least get a clearer picture of what I am doing right and wrong. I'm not stupid enough to think it's going to keep me from making mistakes ever again but it would be nice if at least I could start making some new ones. Okay. So, still living alone. Still an art teacher and still not minding it too bad. Although I wouldn't have believed it possible when I turned thirty, turning thirty-six doesn't feel like that much of a nightmare. And what more could a thirty-six-year-