As per usual round about my birthday, I spend some time alone. Trying to form an opinion about who I am, what I do and where I had gotten to in the last twelve months. This year I find this particularly hard. Basically, I have nothing to wish for. I should be beaming, content and happy. Why am I not? Given, there might be just so much of the good stuff you can possibly digest. Overdosed maybe?

One way, Johnny Dowd