Far to go, eh. Far to go before I make sense.

This is a post that has nothing to do with anything important, except that I was reminded of the old poem and that I was born on the strangest day in the poem. Though Wednesday and Saturday have less than positive prophesies for the children born on those days, they are still clear. Full of woe is clearly a bad thing and working hard for a living is not the worst thing in the world. Then of course there is my sister, a Sunday's child through and through.

No, I am a Thursday's child and I am supposed to have far to go. When this fact was brought up while my sister and I were talking she cackled for several minutes while telling me that was so perfect and that I am never going to settle down. I can't decided if this is utterly depressing or marvelous. The general consensus seems to be that at least I'm not boring, even if no one quite understands what is going on in my head.

Unfortunately, I could never even use this fact for a poem because Bowie already did it. Bowie, who is Wednesday's child, stole it. It was like growing up loving the silly poem about crows (and by love I mean reciting it in front of the school at a talent show when I was in second grade) only to have Counting Crows base their entire identity on the folk verse. Having said that, I do absolutely adore "Murder of One" where they make the connection even more explicit.