They're supposed to be the best days

Birthdays-- they're supposed to be good days. The best days. They're supposed to be the days you wait all year for, the days you make big plans and have big parties with big groups of friends. They're supposed to be exciting. They should be a celebration. Tomorrow is my birthday. Tomorrow my plan is to sleep in, walk Boss, and then spend the remainder of the day laying with him on the couch, watching movies and pretending he's watching them too. This is how my day will go. There will be no party. No gatherings. No exciting, memorializing moments. Tomorrow will essentially be an anniversary of my birth, but really, it's just another day.

I used to be big on birthdays. I used to have a countdown, and I really couldn't wait. The anticipation started buliding up in early November where I compiled a long list of items that I wanted. This year I couldn't think of anything. This year I have made no plans. My sister said she wanted to do something, that she wanted to go out. I told her to go without me, for the simple reason that there is no one I would like to invite. One of my best friends is nine months pregnant, just about ready to give birth, there isn't a club in the world that would make her happy right now. The other is in another continent, far removed from any sensation of festivities. The third, I haven't spoken to in what has turned into months. The fourth I haven't seen/spoken to in what has become a year. And so, I am perfectly content with spending my birth day on a sofa, with my puppy. This is a good day for me.

But something happens when that day comes-- when you look around and you realize that your family, essentially, has become the sole source of celebration. It's an interesting moment when you compile a list of invitations only to come up empty handed. Years ago my list was too long, years ago I had to eliminate people off of my list. Today, the list does not exist. And I haven't quite figured out if this is a good thing. A part of me is just fine, perfectly okay with the way things are. Then another part of me is left wondering where the fuck did everybody go? You grow up, you grow out of each other. And eventually, like today, birthdays are just days, like the one before and the one to come.

I'm twenty two years old tomorrow. I'm twenty two, and I'm bitter and annoyed with the world. I'm annoyed that friendships are so easily lost and the time spent enforcing and strengthening them utterly fades away. I'm angry that I work my ass off for you-- that I buy you gifts, and write you cards, and send you letters and texts and do everything within my control to tell you that I still exist, and that I am still waiting-- and I have yet to hear from you. I'm frustrated that I'm that friend that fades into a distant story of what once was. I'm pissed off that on a day where I should be happy, all I can think about is how pissed off  you all have made me. I do not get it. I merely cannot remember when people stopped caring about friends, when efforts stopped being made. It's a pitiful world, an even more pitiful realization.

Birthday are supposed to be good days. They're supposed to be the best days.
Maybe I've grown too old for the hype.
Maybe it just doesn't matter anymore.
Maybe the recognition of the birth date is an essentially meaningless record.
After all, isn't every day a birth day? Why is mine any more special than all of those?

*And because some people just are more special,

Happy Birthday

to my sister, Racha.

I hope you have a good day--

I know that nothing remarkable will happen today--

But I hope you wake up on time, and that work goes by quickly, and that no customers yell at you, and that you catch your bus going to school, and that you do well on your quiz, and that when you come home you're not completely exhausted, and that you have a good night's rest. I really just hope that you have a good day, if nothing else.

Love you always kid,