The comfort of buttered toast

 I’m eating buttered toast this week. Real white sourdough bread with real butter slathered across it. It’s warming and comforting and good. I’ve eaten buttered toast across the course of my whole life. 

I didn’t write Monday. It was my birthday yesterday. Equal parts anticipation and dread. I had an early visit from Andrew, some messages from family and friends that reminded me who I am to them, with them. And how much they mean to me and then Nadia and Ray, the two people who know me best came through wonderfully with unexpected thoughtful presents and huge helpings of their love. Just being with them, doing a bit of crying without feeling like I’m changing the mood. I love them. We had a good day.