Upon visiting a graveyard when I was younger, I noticed how close people die to the date of their births. So as always being one to find the glass half empty, I have this bizarre fear of death around my birthday.
Yesterday I arose to a head cold; always the cheery "good morning" you wish for. On arrival to work and after a brief complaint of my state, I was offered a zinc enhanced "Cold-Eeze," which up until this moment, I had never heard of. But I was desperate. For all I knew, my brain had liquefied and was now draining through my nostrils. I tossed the cold drop around my mouth with my tongue and started wondering what zinc is usually found in. I chewed the candy core and swallowed before considering if people can be allergic to zinc. And fearful my heart may stop at any moment from zinc poisoning and since I have been renting and watching season 1 of
Bones, I safely tucked the wrapper into my pocket for evidence if I am found dead later on in the day.
I lived. Obviously.
This morning I awoke, and thanks to NPR revealing the date a moment after the alarm sounded, I remembered it is my birthday. In the aftermath of my Nyquil induced night, I started the usual morning routine without much thought of the day, but with the wish it was Friday instead. As I stepped out of the shower, my foot slid, and I flapped my arms wildly as if I had the ability to fly to save myself from gravity's nagging pull. And the only thought that ran through my mind was "I knew it; it's my fucking birthday!"
Again, I lived. Obviously. But the day is still young.
