Today is my birthday—which I would otherwise not note—however, it seems exceptional this year in that I am not dead from the accident just over one month ago.
I see that I share a birthday with Marcel Proust; I’m sort of understanding that ‘living with one’s parents and having no job’ thing he went through…but earnestly hoping I don’t live here till after both my parents die then waste away in my bedroom whist writing a giant novel.

More interesting (or synchronistic?) is that I was born 100 years after C.G. Jung (don’t worry, I’m not going to develop some kind of complex that I’m the reincarnation of Jung—it’s just neat to note).

And, to top it off, today is Nikola Tesla’s birthday; how shocking.

6 September 2009 Update: My mother just noted that I was born a few weeks early; I was due to be born on 26 July 1975…which is 100 years to the day after Jung.