Your birthday is a day that is all about you: what you want, what you like, what will make you happy. Congrats, you were born and are still fantastically alive! That is where, for me, Issue #1 takes seed straight away: I am never as happy about being alive as I know I very well ought to be. Ding-ding-ding! That’s a helluva bummer. Happy Birthday indeed. Acknowledging that I did not die for yet another year automatically sets off a chain of introspection (*cough* critique) of the past year of death-usurping successes. Big heaps of disappointment ensue, primarily dealing with my on-going failure to be content with anything ever.

Issue #2 is a bit less heady in that I project all my woes onto others. . .and then feel shitty about it. See, on your burfday, people like to do things for you that they think will make you happy. They really try to enforce that whole “it’s your day!” crap. But lo! what if they do anything short of a first class job of interpreting and actualizing your inner dreams? Wah! Nobody understands or cares about me blubber, blubber. Also I give myself a hard time over the stupid things that I do want, which are either not possible, don’t make any sense, or contradict each other because I’m the kid who always wanted a unicorn and my parents to get back together. “Oh no, Mom, I don’t want any things, just impossible concepts, please.”

Issue #3 is the shame that fills me upon recognizing the absurdity and injustice of my self-created ethereal disaster. None of it is anything real and I’m retarded.

Issue #4 is me wanting to scrap the whole thing.

Issue #5 is me not really wanting to scrap the whole thing but not knowing how to have a good fucking birthday.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 10th, 2008 at 10:44 pm and is filed under Blogroll, obsessions, scary things. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.