I don't ever wanna birth day.

I just had a birthday. On 9/11. And I try to ignore it. Because I don't like 9/11. Or birthdays, for that matter. I'd rather lose track of the years. And not have to count. In fact, I'm at my best when I lose track of time, period. I think it's silly commemorating anniversaries. Although I do it. Because some of my loved ones appreciate it. But I'm a liar, too. Because I mark the 25th of each month. Because that's when I first connected with my Sardinian true love. On the 25th day of October. Almost four years ago. Makes me think that maybe 25 is my lucky number. And October my lucky month. In that sense, I'm superstitious. A little like what I do when the Chicago Cubs go on a winning streak. I try to go through the same motions/ritual until the streak ends. Such as parting my hair on the right side instead of the left side. Stupid stuff. But hey, maybe that's why nice things happen. Anyway, my birth date has been kidnapped. Seized. Turned into a day of infamy. I don't like it one bit. I'm starting a movement. To eradicate 9/11 from the calender. I want to skip that day. And go from 10 to 12. Automatically. I don't ever wanna birth day. --Jim Broede