Thursday was an interesting day. For those who know me, I use the word interesting very freely; I use it for lack of a better – clearer – understanding of what I really feel about something.
Well, let’s start with “it was Paul McCartney’s birthday”. And I, along with millions (maybe billions) of other fans, took it to twitter to say happy birthday. I used to do fancy birthday wishes in the hopes that mine got retweeted by @PaulMcCartney. Apparently I am not the most creative person out there. But yes, my day is pretty much Paul center on June 18th. Out of every ten words that cross my mind on every June 18th, eleven are PaulMcCartney (yes, one word), and that night I usually dream about him as well.
I am just thankful my hubby isn’t jealous of Paul. Why would he anyway? The guy is 73, and I am, well, 21. They guy is ubber famous and I am, let’s say, not.
And yes, I know I am slightly crazy (okay, maybe a little bit over-the-edge crazy), but shut up. Whoever isn’t slightly crazy about something throw the first stone. So, yes, shut it. You know exactly what I am talking about.
Okay, day goes on. It is a regular work day. Slaves go to work on regular work day, and so do I – and glad I have work to go to. And even though Paulie was everything I could think about, I did do my job. I have to say I forgot my lunch at home, but I did my job.