So at the height of my back pain this spring, probably around the time I was dragging myself with only my arms out of the bathroom after throwing myself off the toilet because it was too painful to stand up, I convinced myself that I was cursed. Let’s back it up to August 2012. Since it was my 27th birthday, I thought a fun theme would be “The 27 Club” and everyone attending would have to dress up as their favorite member, i.e. Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, or Janis Joplin (my choice). Although there was not a huge turnout, it was a load of fun and I had the perfect glasses to top off my ensemble. But as you know (or if you don’t click the link mentioned earlier), the members of the 27 club all met their untimely demise before the age of 28. And so, after several weeks of excruciating pain, suffering, and the as of yet undiagnosed but potential cancer, I was sure that I had pissed off the gods of tasteful party themes with my off-color yet clever 27th birthday, and that they had it in for me as punishment for such a macabre birthday party theme.
As luck would have it, however, I made it. My 28th birthday was one week ago today, and I am not dead. In fact, I feel pretty good, physically. Emotionally, it’s still a bummer to not have a job but c’est la vie. I’ll keep workin’ on it.