Another year older...

Foxwoods yesterday was fun. I didn't return home rich or anything. I did, thankfully return with some of my money in my pocket. But I lost two-thirds of what I brought with me, so... meh. But the company was fun, and going to the casino is always fun, so hey... it makes up for it. You can't go to a casino with money you're not willing to lose.

So yeah, thirty-one. Of course, it's no different than being thirty. It's a number. They're all numbers until the year 2015, when that four gets stuck as the first digit of my age. But I did wonder this morning what thirty-one can bring after the wild year of age thirty. Gah.

I'd decided last night to stay home today. Erich followed suit this morning, after the alarm went off at our normal time and my allergies kicked in, thus preventing me from going back to bed. As he zonked back off to sleep, I padded downstairs to the living room, flipped on the TV, and kinda-but-not-really watched SportsCenter as the Annual Thought came to mind.

Does my birth mother have that Annual Thought every year, too? I'd like to think that she does. But after thirty-one years, I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't. I mean, really-- she was seventeen when I was born.

Segwaying thought... which means yes, my biological mother has not yet reached fifty-- as a woman in my thirties in this day-and-age, that's just FREAKY to me. On this date at her age, she had a biological daughter about to enter high school. nnnngggyyyaaahhhh! *shudders in fear*

Ahem... anyway... she was seventeen, and I was adopted out. Obviously, I was a mistake. I have no problem accepting that idea. But how painful a mistake? And thirty-one years out, I guess I just wonder if it's so painful that she's just shoved it into some dark part of her psyche. Despite not knowing her, the idea that such pain could exist saddens me. And from my own history, I know it could happen. Does genetics play a part in such behavior? Do I act like her and not know it? I mean... you hear about identical twins raised apart who still are incredibly alike. Could that happen between mother and daughter?

This is the crazy stuff I think about as an adoptee, by the way. Not knowing who your biological parents are throws some really weird ideas into your head to play with. Some are stupid as hell. Some aren't. The creative writer's mind plus all of this unknown stuff to swirl around in the brain really starts to build some crazy-ass concepts, though.

I guess somewhere deep down, I have this strange little hope that she does think of me, even ever so briefly, each year on January 11th. It's essentially my only connection to her at all. I don't know who she is. I don't know where she is. So this is what I have.

And this morning, like I have since I was old enough to understand it, I quietly thank her... wherever she is.