I have in my head a vision of what one's blog should read on their birthday. I feel as though a normal human being, on this, a monumental day, would blog about how great life is and how happy they are to have a day all about them.
Normal being the operative word.
I am blogging, so there is a hint of normality somewhere in my old body. And I will try to keep it positive because of all the generous acts and phonecalls and text messages and blogs (Thanks, Mom!) and iphones that have been abundant, and very appreciated. The last thing I want is for anyone to think I am ungrateful. Because I'm not. I just hate August 14.
Let me try to explain.
2005- I won't go into much detail about my 18th birthday. It included many tears. about moving out. going to college. being cheated on. being fat. having a lot of attention. etc.
2006- Nineteen was interesting. My day consisted of working. (Working!) And going to dinner with my family. Its the working part that did it for me. Being an adult blows because you work on your birthday. And presents are null because, as adults, if we need something we buy it (we can afford it because we work all the time) and if we don't need it, we convince ourselves we don't want it.
2007- Last year I had the joy of spending my birthday with my sister, who knew about my relationship with birthdays, so she flew up to be with me. The boy I was dating at the time did not feel obligated to give up much of MY time on MY birthday to spend with MY sister/ best friend/ other half/ significant other for life/ confidante etc. I was like a Cherry Twizzler Pull-In-Peel just coming apart and being pulled, twisted, and eaten alive. I spent the majority of the night curled up on a Lovesac with Kyria bawling my eyes out. Thank goodness for her.
Year by year, my measure of a good birthday has decreased. Currently, a good birthday is one in which I do not cry. So far so good for today. Although I did feel a tear come along as I read my mother's "Ode to Mo" earlier. Thanks again, Mom.