Today is my 35th birthday. I hate my birthdays. Once when I was young I probably looked forward to them but, as I got older my birthday started to be associated with bad things happening. This year seems no different. My car is broken, the truck I bought has an issue I’m trying to figure out and fix, because of those two problems I canceled plans to hang out with a friend tonight, my kids have been arguing and having tempers all day, and then I yelled at them for the arguing, yelling, and not doing their chores which resulted in my son pretty much telling me that I am no longer his parent. Yup great day. Maybe someday they’ll get better but I’ve lost all hope of that.
Mine is coming up and like usual I am not looking forward to it.
It’s not that I am getting older, that doesn’t bother me. Hey, I look great for my age.
What bothers me are all the people who go ‘Happy Birthday!’ on Facebook.
You only remember it’s my birthday because Facebook told you.
Growing up if something tragic, or a big argument didn’t happen, my family would forget my birthday. And if that didn’t happen they would do whatever they could to mortify me.
So, I don’t have happy birthdays. I’d rather spend the day raging drunk but I can’t do that because I’m responsible for my children.
I don’t write this for sympathy, it is what it is. I just hate my birthday.