I had a birthday yesterday. It felt funny, like I was a wrinkly fairly ugly, new born, 52 divorcee, and everyone I knew was trying to cheer me on by wishing me happy birthday. People are nice. I am always reaching out to friends but it is hard for me when they reach back, I feel overwhelmed, like I don't really deserve their affection, and it makes me aware that I have a hole inside that can only be filled by me; friends are for celebrating life, for teaching, for briefly connecting with - actual survival depends on me and I don't seem to be very good at it. maybe that is the secret, admit that a lot of the time I am like a beetle turned on his back with my little legs bicycling in the air.