We're Gonna Drink Bacardi Like It's My Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. For the very special occasion, I got to leave the institute and spend the night back in Budva. It was so I could see friends at the hostel, eat barbecue, collect a slew of presents, including what had come in the mail from peeps at home, generally be lavished with attention and love, which strangely, I’m not getting at the institute, and connect to the internet for the only time this entire week. (Gasp!) And, I had the most spectacular day! It wasn’t enough that Matt and his girlfriend came from London with gifts of Sue Townsend (book), Tom McRae (CD), The Tea House in Covent Garden (3 different kinds of tea), and The Body Shop (smell goods), and carried around all of my heavy bags so that my old-lady back wouldn’t get further injured, but the best presents they gave me was company in a strange place like Igalo, and a ride to Budva.

How can one of my best birthdays possibly be one that I spent several thousand miles away from 90% of my friends and loved ones, in a country where I don’t speak the language, and oh, yeah, my back got injured and I’m walking around like a gimp all the time? Well, it was.

My cup runneth over. It really does. It runneth big time.