It’s my birthday weekend 

They’re calling for rain 

I was driving home from work when the clouds came 

Maybe I can squeeze in a run tomorrow morning before it starts 

Eh, let it pour

I’ll be 37 on Sunday but who’s keeping score?

My old best friend is supposed to be in town too 

It’s someone’s wedding 

Looks like it’ll happen, that thing they’re dreading – rain 

You know another thing – my friend is 7 months pregnant 

I’ll be going to the baby shower 

I’ll try not to say something I’ll regret 

I’m sure somewhere else in town this weekend there will be flowers – for a funeral 

At least the weather will be apt 

I’ve been in this town my whole life – Norfolk – but I never feel trapped 

The old hospital where I was born is slowly being torn 

Torn down

But on the other side of town is that bowling alley 

Where 20 years ago I spent my 17th birthday 

Some of the cool girls came
I wore my cross country t-shirt 

You know, nowadays I like to imagine my name – in the obituaries

In that size 12 black font 

Sometimes I also imagine the names of my friends and family

And I’m not depressed or homicidal 

But I feel in a strange way that every day is recital 

For death, for eternity

For who we will ultimately be 

So every day, every year I write my obituary

Will I make any sort of impression on my “friends?”

Mmm. Barely.

The clouds roll in 

I’m thinking about vision

There’s no baby on the way for me 

I never hear from those old friends at the bowling alley 

I wonder if Norfolk is just a valley 

Between heaven and earth 

Between life, death, and rebirth 

Weddings and birthdays, babies and funerals 

They’re all communal 

I haven’t quite figured out the point 

At least they’ll say 

She enjoyed running in the rain