I never thought I'd see the day when I'd look back at the birthday I spent in a chemically induced coma as one of the good one. I've had it. I'm done. No more birthdays. I truly loath this time of year.
Maybe I feel self conscious having 'happy birthday' sung to me. Maybe being told it's "my day" sounds conceded even to my massive ego. Maybe it's because the most famous person I share my birthday with is the Marque De Sade. Or maybe it just seems like I get targeted by whirlwind of misery about this time of year.
Now, I've already had a very dear friend wish me a happy birthday. I know my mom bought me a cake. I'm told it's very good too since she and my brother's family had some after I had to leave what was to be my pseudo-surprise party early. My dad and step-mom sent me a card I'm told, and it's probably in my mailbox right now. Guess I'm going to have to check my mail. I'm sure I'll get around to it. Eventually. Anyways, to all the people who wish me well on my accomplishment of surviving another year: thank you. Now please carry on about your business.
My sister-in-law once theorized that it's my not wanting to get older is the reason I don't like my birthday. Absolutely not true. In fact, I revel in the fact that every day I'm just a little closer to being a horrible old man. Sometimes I even go out and practice yelling at small children to get off my yawn. I even have a cane picked out. It doubles at a blowgun so that any little weasel who don't get off my lawn will find themselves punctured. In the eventuality that I lack the lung power, I plan to invest in a paintball gun so as to mark the little bastards. Children run fast and I do not. Those welts stick around for a while so I'll find them eventually.
I'm not aging gracefully. Grey hairs, wrinkles, scars. I look like ten miles of bad road. My knees pop all the time. I can still put my foot upside someone's head, but now I've got to stretch first. I can barely have one beer without feeling sick. Years of self abuse are starting to catch up with me.
However, the trade is wisdom. They tell me this. Then they tell me everything I'm doing wrong. They know who they are. Screw they. I'm just as much of an idiot as I was in high school. The difference is now I have much better stories. Much of them rooted in idiocy.
So another birthday is upon me. I'm having a week that is about as enjoyable as electro-shock therapy, so no, I won't be doing anything to celebrate this so called 'event'. There's things to do. Plots to plot. Events to plan.
The future is not going to lay down at feet, and I'm not getting any younger.
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