Yesterday was my birthday. This now means I am 37 years old, and one day. Very few people registered that it was my birthday. Very few were actually informed. It passed a lot of friends by. Not a single person at work knew the “importance” of the date. I just don’t do birthdays. Other people’s – yes; my own – no. Not sure why? I care not about age. I’ve always been of the opinion that, with the exception of hair, teeth and brain cells, you should accrue more of everything the older you get – thus adding greatly to your life; your experiences. I guess I fall in to that “would be a psychologist’s dream ticket” camp – in that I regularly over compensate