It's official I am 34. This is actually day 4 of my 34th year of life. Part of me feels lucky. People ask me if I am a birthday person and I always say yes, because I always think of the friends I've lost and know that having a birthday is much better than never having one again. But another part of me wonders why my life has outpictured so much differently than I imagined it. When I was a kid I had notions. I was going to go to Spelman like my mom, and get a PhD too, maybe write some novels and become president. Something like that. And get married and have kids.I did write some books. That has to count for something right?
