so, I’m another year older. That’s
what the calendar says. Not much has

changed in the last few years. I’ve gained
some weight and many more grey

hairs. I’m still not selling my books, except if you
count that one a day or so ago – that made me all

of twelve dollars! Don’t have many
followers. I’m less a friend and more depressed

than usual. It’s just an ordinary
day. There’ll be no celebration. I’ll write all

morning for the other two books I’m working
on, drink all afternoon.  Visit my sick son, who isn’t

even aware that it’s my birthday. Cry into my pillow
at night breathing into the tub of vapor rub to clear

my sinuses. Get up several times to ***, toss and turn.
At some point, fall back to sleep.