B = Birthday (A-Z Challenge)

Why do these things keep happening to me? This whole practice of getting older needs to stop, seriously. I have a birthday coming up in the next few days and I’d rather it not happen. Not that I want to die or anything, I just don’t like the thought of aging. I am fully prepared for and capable of lying about my age; that’s not the problem. I come from good genetic stock, and when I tell people my real age (which isn’t often), I get looks of shock, even from those people who don’t like me and don’t care about flattering me. Since I objectively know that I’m not old at all, that’s not the problem.

The problem is what I have done with the time I have had.

Every birthday I think of all the things I could have done to better myself, my situation, and my goals. I think about where others are in my age group (or younger) and where I could be if I had applied myself. I try to calm this, to think about where I want to be and who I want to be, and to make goals and plans to get there. Instead I lament that I haven’t done more.

I thought that publishing a novel (and with a short story out there as an added bonus) this inner nagging voice would calm at least a little bit, but if anything it has gotten worse. It wasn’t until I started making last minute plans for the Evil Day that I realized what was bothering me so much: I’m in roughly the same place I was last year. And the year before that. And that.

Now that I have this book and story published, I think part of me goes back a few years to when I was desperate for publication, when I wanted nothing more than that in the whole world. I remember thinking then that once I had an agent or a good publisher (or even a bad one, which mine is not, all things considered), once I had that “in” I would be a writing fiend. Yet I have not been.

I am very much my own worst enemy. I am ambitious yet lazy, focused yet flighty, a dreamer currently lacking the will to pull myself up and write the dreams in my head into a document and allow others to read them. I am scared and yet one of the bravest people I know, I sometimes ooze with unrealized potential but do almost nothing with it. Yet, if that is true, am I not worse than the lazy sod who lies around the house all day doing nothing, going to his part time job, drinking and wrecking his trailer during the day? I have a steady job, savings, a few close friends, and lots of wishes. My will and strength to make them happen grows every day, yet it seems like it does so in such small increments.

These are the thoughts which plague me on my birthdays. Can’t I just fucking go out, get drunk, party, and be merry like other people? Sheesh. This pseudo-deep thinking is annoying.

Happy impending birthday to me!

Alternate letter considerations: Bates Motel, Beetlejuice (Perhaps I should have gone with one of these as they are a bit more cheery. Oh, well. I shall make it up tomorrow).

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~ by Darren Endymion on May 2, 2014.

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