Birthdays are important because it’s the time when we get all the things we’ve been hoping for since christmas. A new toy, game, doll… whatever. So….

When I was little, I didn’t get how my mom couldn’t care about her birthday. All I wanted is for mine to come, to get presents, to get older, to get the school year over… No understanding of how one could not want to be a year older, or how one could not care.

I get things… by and large… when I want. That’s what being a grownup is. You see a new gadget, you buy it. If you don’t have the money and you want it enough, you save for it. But a birthday isn’t really the time to get something you’ve been wanting… if you didn’t have the money before your birthday, you likely won’t on your birthday…

So birthdays are no longer about the presents.

Getting older has stopped bothering me. I don’t dread the big THREE OH… I don’t really care. I don’t want time to speed by, I don’t want it to slow… I’m ok with just living and being. Life was really no better when I was 24… I was fat and depressed… bfd. I couldn’t even drive a camry.

So birthdays are no longer about age.

Otto had to go back to work… big huge bad blowup and crap like that. Am I disappointed? Sure. It sucks, but in reality, I’d feel that way whether or not it was my birthday. The magical lable of Birthday just gives me more to whine about really. It’s not like the night would have been great or hugely exciting. We had no plans, there were no special goingson…

So birthdays are no longer about celebration.

Birthday has simply come to mean an excuse to indulge in something. When I was 21, we went out… Olive Garden, I think… and I got a glass of wine. I don’t like wine really, especially red. I had red. Yay… it gave me a headache.

I think that’s the point I realized that the rest of this crap didn’t matter. Things you wait forever to do… they’re a big letdown. You build it up in your mind, you’re disappointed when all your dreams don’t come true. So birthdays have no real meaning. I’m one year older, one year closer to death, babies, whatever it is I have coming to me in life. That’s all.

A reason to have a slight binge on some goodies that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be anyway. Too much sugar gives me a headache, leaves me with bad acne outbreaks, and generally makes me miserable after the fact. I keep doing it because at some point it brought me pleasure, it was fun and tasty, and I have that encoded. I just do it automatically. It’s not even a reward or something stupid like that. It’s just what I expect to do, so I do it.

I’d rather have a treat here and there then a bunch at once, but usually I have the ability to not partake… and a birthday was an excuse to. Otto wanted it… and I have eyes bigger than my mouth.

I have a headache. Probably the fucking brownie.

So…. birthdays are all about the stupid things you do to give yourself a headache?

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