My 35th birthday falls on a Saturday falls on a school day. I didn't want to simply attend my classes then go home — as much as I wanted to sleep after cramming an essay — so I invited Mich and Alts to dinner right after.
By some strange chance, or simply my skills in finding connections where there should be none, we briefly talked about Lacan's "Desire is the the desire of the Other" in Theory class. Now that I think about it, the discussion was born out of a question I raised. A proper signpost for what was about to happen:
On the car ride going to the restaurant, Althea asked me what my birthday wish was. The answer was delayed until we had dessert, where the ladies brought me a chocolate cake with a candle that doesn't blow out.
I know what I want, but when you're an adult, a wish is a promise. A declaration of desire is a pledge. I wish for cash; I must put in some work. I wish for love; I must forgive. I must forego pride. I must wake up early and finish what I started.
The answer is still delayed.