It didn't start off with a white cake carrying forty-something candles Rather, it was the chimes of the phone alarm later, a cold run through the foggy streets then back home to nurse the joint pains
The phone buzzed with messages first from the wife, then my best friend, then my brother, to whom I got to respond "and the same to you too" then my ghost friend, who only sends a message on this day, each year before vanishing out of my life
I'm home today, having a party of sorts with the twin monitors and the tailless mouse At least they look dressed up for the occasion sitting on the workstation in their black soft-plastic jackets They don't dance or sing or even mumble anything They only look down at my fingers going back and forth around the letters of the alphabet as I go to work while sitting at home
At this age, I muse to myself some people don't want to remember how they have moved closer in the journey towards forgetting one's name, family and eventually how to eat
And almost imperceptibly we have become the dad, or mum or auntie that we looked up to or held under the magnifying glass and judged for their decisions on our lives
But now I'm only trying to live in the moment as I pour a bit of whiskey swirl it around gently in the glass, watching if it shows within its brown circular current the regrets of the past or the shrouded future and hopefully, the number of my age
one example of how birthdays go after one reaches a certain age.