Yesterday was my birthday and now it's over. It was probably the worst birthday I've ever had, other than the year I turned 16 and we all went on vacation to Cancun on the week that coincidentally coincided with my birthday. I had a stomach bug the whole time and my family arranged for a cream pie to be shoved in my face at Senor Frog's while hundreds of drunk strangers looked on and laughed. This year, all I really wanted was a cake and some of my close friends and family to say happy birthday and I barely got that. It's days like this that make me happy that birthdays are only once a year.
I will take full responsibility. It's probably my fault that I never told most of the people in my life that I'm a person too. Even though I enjoy buying gifts for their birthdays, anniversaries, housewarmings, etc., etc., calling them to check in with them during important times in their lives, and listening to them talk for hours without ever being asked about myself, it's nice to feel like someone cares about me as well. While I spend lots of time buying thoughtful gifts (probably too much time actually), I normally receive presents that could be for anyone, like someone went to the store 10 minutes before I arrived and bought whatever their hand landed on. How can I not feel just a little sad when I receive a package of socks when I wear flip-flops well into November and everyone knows this?
Tonight, I'm celebrating in my own way. After work, I am planning to visit Barnes and Noble, use a gift certificate that I have been saving since Christmas and buy several GRE books. I hope to then go to a cafe, get some coffee and flip through the books. And if I have time and am feeling ambitious, I will go home and try to make this tart that I have been eying for two weeks. Happy birthday to me.
(Photo courtesy of aimeeclaire on weheartit.com)
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