Here's the strange thing about being born on the leap day. Most years (exactly three out of four) are just the same as anybody else's: you hit your birthday, think about the year behind you and the months ago, and take the day as a chance to be slightly weird for a bit. Apart from a bit of fiddling about when exactly to celebrate it (Feb 28? Mar 1? Whenever my friends are free, duh), it's just the same.
Not in the years of the Olympics, though. February 29th reminds me of February 29ths which have been -- 1996, 2000, 2004, 2008, 1992 -- and those yet to come -- 2064, 2016, 2032. So much has changed -- ``some are dead and some are living'' and all that -- but so much stays the same. It's strange to divvy up your life into sets of four years -- into Olympiads, if you will -- but every four years, that's what my life feels like.
I had a touch of the depressions earlier in the evening (after yet another amazing D&D game), which is slightly odd, since this is definitely one of my best February 29ths in a while. And yet, and yet. To quote White Teeth, there is a sense of having picked up the wrong jacket from the cloakroom of life. Which is strangely self-contradictory: on almost every measure, my life today is many times better than it has been in years, even in Olympiads. Perhaps that has something to do with it? The feeling that life is almost, but not quite, perfect? The frustration of being at the right place at the right time with the right people but with just slightly the wrong clothes?
Anyway. I'm lucky enough to have been born an optimist (28 years ago today, as it happens), which means that I live in the belief that tomorrow -- tomorrow! -- it's all going to be a little bit better than today. So. So.