No more wah-wahs.

And I didn't even need someone to slap me. I can allow myself a little self pity every now and then, as long as it doesn't last any more than a day or two.

So today I snapped out of the birthday funk, which is not to say that I can promise not to slip back into it at some point(s) during the next month or so.

I spent a little time thinking about what has transpired since the last time Nov. 24 rolled around. This made me feel better. Here goes:

I've done lots of travelling. From San Francisco for my last birthday to Boston, New York and Philly in December to reconnect with U2, my peoples, and my craft out East to Texas for Chri-mas to Dublin for spring break to Prague, Budapest, Croatia, Bosnia, Italy, France for the summer and next back to Boston and Philly for my annual pilgrimage. That's a lot of miles.

I made money enough to fund most of that and put some away for retirement, because as morbid as I can get about cancer and whatever else might kill me, I do expect to live a while.

I got through three--almost four--semesters of my PhD. That ain't nothing.

I've made friends, I've reconnected with past friends and lovers, met interesting people galore, expanded my world. And that's certainly made me for the better.

I've lifted a lot of weight, run hundreds of miles--including a personal best at the Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago, gotten bronzed and blonde in the South of France, lost a few pounds, gained a few back, lost them again, cut and colored my hair like a rock star and brought it back to plain old me.

I've published a good armful of articles, some of which I hear have moved people.

I've made progress on my book--who knows how much exactly, but it's looking like a few chapters, anyway. Plugging away.

I've sat plenty of hours on my therapist's couch--crying, laughing, questioning, complaining, ranting--growing wiser about myself as best I can.

I taught more than 100 students, hopefully, how to write better and think differently about themselves as creators.

I saw the face of God.

I haven't solved any real problems--my own, anyone else's, the world's. But I am carving out a path for myself in this here life: stumbling, tripping over my own feet, gliding, running, flying, trudging. It's all there.

I guess I can look forward to what I'll make of 30. I trust myself to do it right.

And I can always return to the South of France in my mind. . . .