Yesterday was my birthday. No, you didn’t miss my post about it. The past few years I have decided not to tell people, not to make a big demand on the world to pay attention to me.
This has limited success, because deep down, actually an inch or so down, I want the world to pay attention to me. So I often just feel sad and sulky. But it’s interesting because I got phone calls and emails and cards and a couple of presents. And I still felt sorry for myself.
Loneliness isn’t about other people. I am lonely because I feel lonely. It’s a perfect tautology. I could be surrounded by people, and as long as I maintain my sadness that is exactly how I will feel. So, although I recognize that my strategy (secretly designed to facilitate any surprise parties that may be, but are not actually, in the offing) isn’t working, I nonetheless appreciate the introspection of time spent alone with my wildly misguided hopes and expectations.
Anyway, fuck that bag. I took myself out to dinner and had big quantities of sushi and hot sake and yes, that does make a girl feel better and indeed, quite celebratory.
Yay me. Congratulations on yet another successful turning 39.
