I’m thinking that it’s a birthday like this one I’ve just had that starts to get people to not like them, rather than the age itself. I mean, hey, at least for a while, I’m embracing aging, nothing I can prevent, just live the best and healthiest that I can to enjoy the years that I have. So, aging is not my concern here with my new grand 27 completed years on this little rock of a planet hurtling through dark space only happening to be lit by our beautiful and searing sun.
No, my thoughts are within unknown expectations. It’s funny how leading up, I didn’t think I had any, but now realize I was full of them. Expecting some cool surprise in the mailbox, some fun thoughts from somebody I love from the US. It’s funny, I did get a couple greatings and I must say they really did make me smile and enjoy that moment. But it’s funny, well maybe not. Because I expected a few other folks, at least, to mention a happy day or something, ya know, nice and simple. It’s funny how it didn’t happen. Vague at best. Out of family, I gotta thank Mom, Aunt Martha and Sarah & Ted for thinking of me. It meant the world to me that they mentioned it. Because now, I can officially say that I don’t like birthdays anymore. I feel let down and that they really don’t matter more than keeping track of how many days or years we revolve around that spectacularly toasty sun of “ours”.
I guess we have to ask for greatings if we want them. Have our own parties and make our own calls and seek them out ourselves, as if to say, I’m special, so please agree and help make me continue to believe that I am.
Happy Birthday to me.
