Birthday Horror

I’m not a fan of birthdays. All the candles and the singing and the cards and having poor friends who only give you their time makes me want to punch someone in the throat. I know that makes me sound like a Grumpy Cat knockoff, but I don’t like birthdays. It’s like 712,643 Mondays rolled into one, and makes me feel as though I had lived that many years. They are reminders that you are getting older, that things aren’t what they used to be, and birthdays are, for me, reminders of all that I want to do and haven’t yet done. That’s a shitty way of looking at things, so I try to change my perspective.

I try to consider and be glad that I’m still around to have a birthday, that I still have plenty of years ahead of me to do those things I want, and that I’m relatively healthy and able to enjoy the time that I have. Time marches steadily on, and the alternative to having a birthday is far better than the prospect of NOT having one.

I know what it takes to be happy during this time. It’s about being satisfied with what I have while still aspiring to be better, do better, do more, and experience all I can. I’m lacking in the latter part. I experience the fantasies in my head; that’s about it. Not as fun as living them, I expect. It’s all about perspective.

So, I get really introspective around this time, and it’s annoying to be in my own head. I’m certain that I must be a delight to be around. I loathe birthdays, and I therefore take it out on others.

When someone asks how old I’m going to be, I ask them how much they weigh. If someone says that I’m getting older, I inform them that they smell of ass and shame and that they don’t hear me complaining. If anyone older than me says this, I usually point to pendulous eye bags and wonder aloud if all their hormones are still functioning properly. If someone tries to guess my age, I guess theirs and add on just enough to be wildly insulting without being unrealistic. If someone younger and skinnier says anything, I bite out their Achilles tendon or predict their weight in 5 years.

If I’m not messed with, things will be fine. I’m not above childish insults or just cussing a bitch out. I’m not proud; it’s just a fact.

The good thing is that awesome super hero movies tend to come out around my birthday, so I make my lovely friends take me to them and feed me. I make my exes put out. Explosions, powers, and food. Oh, and my friends. I guess they aren’t so bad, either.

Maybe I shouldn’t complain so much.



~ by Darren Endymion on April 30, 2015.

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