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DANA DEARMOND
DANA DEARMOND
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Monday 10 June 2024 17:00:07 GMT
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hannnahbarron
Hannah Barron :
fuck pac man
2024-06-12 20:02:04
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mrsunnypubgx
mrsunnypubgx :
Great Control.🤩❤️
2024-06-11 15:45:50
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Gigi❤️ :
🍒🍒
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On the morning of my 47th birthday I put my daughter on the bus to go to summer camp and I went for a run. It’s already 90 degrees at 8 am but I want to sweat. And sweat I do all the way down to the river up the hill and back home again where I collapse onto my outdoor couch on my patio and stare up at the clouds.  How is it possible that I have lived 47 years?  My dad died last year he was only 71.  That means I might only have 24 years left. I don’t think that will be my fate but it’s hard not to think about that today. A day when your life calendar flips over and reminds you that this is not permanent.  When I was young, my birthday was all about hope for what was to come. Now that I have lived more of life my birthday feels less hopeful and more like a triumph- like ha, look at all that I have overcome! I am still here.  And what does that mean to still be here, to be a mom and a business owner and a friend trying to do my best and survive.  I have so many responsibilities at 47 that I often wish I was 27 again just for the carefreeness, the lighthearted way I skipped through life. I want to go out past 11pm and let the night decide who I am going to meet and where I will end up. I want to be in a place where no one knows me, no one wants anything from me, and no one cares what I do.  I want to be 12, 23 and 33 again. But I don’t really. I didn’t really want to be that then. I have always wanted the future. I have always wanted to be older except for my birthday and then I don’t.  How weird is that? That on my birthday I wish I could do back to a time and place that I hated the last time I was there. I don’t’ really want to be 23 again.  No. I don’t really want that at all.  I suppose what it is, is that I am terrified that I am closer to end of the run then the beginning.  My birthday wish this year is to think about how much more I have left, to dream more, to dig deep to play big and love so hard it might break me.  While the end of the run is always the hardest part, you are sore, you are tired and you just want it to be over- it’s also the best part. The sense of accomplishment and the runners high. The looking back and knowing you did the damn thing.  I don’t want to get to the end of my life with anything left.  I want to have done it all and played so hard that at the end I think there’s nothing more I could’ve done.  I want to collapse into a heaving pile of sweat and say, that was a great run.  Here’s to 47.  I may never be 12, 23 and 33 again but if I am lucky, I will be 53, 74 and 88.
On the morning of my 47th birthday I put my daughter on the bus to go to summer camp and I went for a run. It’s already 90 degrees at 8 am but I want to sweat. And sweat I do all the way down to the river up the hill and back home again where I collapse onto my outdoor couch on my patio and stare up at the clouds. How is it possible that I have lived 47 years? My dad died last year he was only 71. That means I might only have 24 years left. I don’t think that will be my fate but it’s hard not to think about that today. A day when your life calendar flips over and reminds you that this is not permanent. When I was young, my birthday was all about hope for what was to come. Now that I have lived more of life my birthday feels less hopeful and more like a triumph- like ha, look at all that I have overcome! I am still here. And what does that mean to still be here, to be a mom and a business owner and a friend trying to do my best and survive. I have so many responsibilities at 47 that I often wish I was 27 again just for the carefreeness, the lighthearted way I skipped through life. I want to go out past 11pm and let the night decide who I am going to meet and where I will end up. I want to be in a place where no one knows me, no one wants anything from me, and no one cares what I do. I want to be 12, 23 and 33 again. But I don’t really. I didn’t really want to be that then. I have always wanted the future. I have always wanted to be older except for my birthday and then I don’t. How weird is that? That on my birthday I wish I could do back to a time and place that I hated the last time I was there. I don’t’ really want to be 23 again. No. I don’t really want that at all. I suppose what it is, is that I am terrified that I am closer to end of the run then the beginning. My birthday wish this year is to think about how much more I have left, to dream more, to dig deep to play big and love so hard it might break me. While the end of the run is always the hardest part, you are sore, you are tired and you just want it to be over- it’s also the best part. The sense of accomplishment and the runners high. The looking back and knowing you did the damn thing. I don’t want to get to the end of my life with anything left. I want to have done it all and played so hard that at the end I think there’s nothing more I could’ve done. I want to collapse into a heaving pile of sweat and say, that was a great run. Here’s to 47. I may never be 12, 23 and 33 again but if I am lucky, I will be 53, 74 and 88.

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