24

Today was my star birthday (when you turn the same age as the day you were born), and it was a good one.  I was at first nonplussed by the idea of it all, especially since I've been "24" for the past year and that I had to go to a workshop all day yesterday. As it turns out, I am not yet of the age where every birthday is worse than the one prior.

To begin with, this workshop was out in the middle-of-nowhere's suburbs. By the time I got back Saturday night, I was so in the zone. I was on the elevator to my apartment, headphones in and totally rocking. I'd been travelling for an hour and a half and nothing was going to stop me then, in the home stretch. I come bobbin' down the hallway, inserting and turning my key in rhythm, and fling open the door to find the below.

At this point, the room is dark and I can't tell what is going on inside. My music is still blaring, so I can't even listen to hear if there's movement inside or not. I slide my hand along the right wall until it reaches the light switch. It would seem that at a certain age, one stops receiving birthday spankings and begins receiving birthday punkings. The room is a maze of toilet paper and laundry, strung up wall to wall. Someone has meticulously wrapped most of my possessions with aluminium foil (including dishes, furniture, and slices of American cheese). The furniture has been rearranged.

I stood spinning slowly in the centre of the room, dumbfounded and disoriented like a cat in a new house. Over the course of time I noticed smaller details like the disappearance of my laundry, the post-its that completely covered my mirror, or the pots and pans in the freezer. After 24 hours I believe everything has been discovered and corrected, including the shrink-wrapped shower head and toilet bowl.

While unwrapping, I got about 3 books in before realizing that everything had been replaced with chick-lit.

Lovingly and painstakingly done. I love it. Thanks to everyone for a kicking birthday that was full of surprises, delicious food, and fun.