27

Well, I'm twenty-seven now. Many good folks showed up Sunday to celebrate, bearing not only themselves- the most important gifts they could give- but all kinds of thoughtful and bizarre things: thousand-year-old eggs, daughter wine and plum wine, the complete run of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, books on doing nothing, manliness, and PKD pseudo-mainstream fiction, canned plants that sprout secret messages, blocks of tea, 104 unique Jack Chick tracts, thousands of matches, Shadow of the Colossus, and beer aplenty. Good times were had by all. I am a very, very lucky dude to have the friends that I do, and no amount of words can express how much I love you all.

Today's been spent drinking leftover beer, working on pops' book, and reading. I talked to my folks, too, which is always a pleasure, and I thank them more than anyone for giving me the opportunity to be here.

The pall of my friend's suicide hasn't been completely driven away, though it's not as oppressive as it was Saturday night/Sunday morning. Her funeral's tomorrow; I doubt that I'll be able to go to work afterwards, even though my supervisor wants me to. Christ, what a troubling, and troubled, scenario.

That said, thanks again to everyone who makes my life as excellent as it is, and may we be able to celebrate many more birthdays together, yours and mine.

Your Friend Always,
David Addison Smith