When I repudiated January I gave myself a different day to celebrate my birth. This is the second year running I forgot about it.
Last night I took myself out to a solitary dinner and read about the scandalous lives of poets, then watched several hours of television (quite the anomaly and treat). It was so much fun I overslept, by approximately a whole day, and had many lucid dreams involving Seattle and Portland and Cambridge and London friends all converging at the Maypole for much hilarity.
I think I even roller skated. Happy fake birthday to me!