The sun’ll come out, tomorrow

So they say.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll be 41 tomorrow. Dang.

I used to be proud about being born in such an unconventional month, just a week after Hallowe’en. I always liked chrysantemum--also an unconventional flower, especially because in Italy it is considered “the All Souls’ flower” and used mainly to decorate graves—but for this very same reason nobody ever gave me a bunch of chrysantemi for my birthday. (This would be quite normal in England, I am said.)

It has always been fun to have a reason to rejoice on a gloomy rainy day while everybody else just feels depressed. But for some reason today I don’t feel like rejoicing so much. Might be the weather (really, I mean REALLY gloomy). And sure, the fact of having just watched The Corpse Bride doesn’t help.

But we’ll see—guess—tomorrow. After all, it’s only a few minutes away.

(And I never liked Annie anyway.)