I Didn’t Celebrate My Birthday Again This Year

My birthday came and went without much ceremony. I haven’t put much stock in it over the last few years. I tend to just go to work, because I am an adult and I have bills to pay. I don’t have parties because, I feel I’ve gotten to old to be fussed over and, as a grown up I can have all the cake and ice cream I want, whenever I like. Plus, when it all boils down, no one else really cares. I think if it weren’t for Facebook there’d be about five or six people in the world who’d remember what the date was. I’m counting myself in that number. I do appreciate the well wishes because, well you’d have to be a giant ungrateful prick not to. I may be a cynic but I am not a piece of shit about it. I have gotten so good at not making a big deal about it that the event slipped my families mind until later that night. I feel like I should have been more bothered by this than I was.

I spent the next day in the annual introspection and life cataloging, that I really hope everyone else does. This was followed by the general numbness and sense of disappointment that this type of thing leads to. I am amazed by the minds capacity to look back on decisions that you’ve made, no matter how good they were, and see nothing but a long string of missed opportunities and heart breaks. This type of activity leads me to be conflicted by the need to be by myself and a crushing feeling of loneliness. The end result is moping about the house silently while everyone tries to figure out whether your angry at them or about to burst into tears.

Fortunately the internet vomited up this before I got on anyone’s nerves too badly.


And really what, chance does a bad mood have after that?

Hope you all had a Happy Monday

Near as I can tell that wonderful animation originated at 

3 thoughts on “I Didn’t Celebrate My Birthday Again This Year

  1. Hey — I didn’t know it was your birthday. To be fair, I’m not sure you and I ever shared more than three sentences while we lived in the same 10 square miles. I only set foot in the Hearth maybe twice before it went under.

    My most perfect memory of you is once, a lifetime ago, on The Commons. You were walking up to say something to the person I was with (Holly? Doug? BC? I don’t remember that part) — you were barefoot, and shirtless, and tanned, and dirty, and your hair was in this wild spill of gold ringlets. You were backlit by the sun, and you had the most radiant smile.

    You’re far away now, and living life, and doing your thing, and now is when we’ve managed to connect, which is just fine. I’m glad I get to read your writing. I find what you put down fascinating.

    Happy Belated, Hip. I’m glad you’ve been here for another go ’round.

    • The time your memory is probably from the summer right before I left Ithaca. I was homeless and had taken to using first damn in the mornings as a place to swim/ nap. What ever was in the water there was really good for my hair. I was very casual in those days, mostly by necessity (it always amazes me when I manage to spell necessity correctly in the first go) and largely because I was convinced it was all a game I was playing. I keep the hair clipped short now-a-days, and the smile is more wry than radiant.

      I am glad we connected as well and I want to let you know that it was, in part, reading the works on your site that pushed me towards striking at it myself. Thank you for that, and your encouragement of my writing.

      And thanks for the birthday wishes.

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