Yes, I am alive. I’ve just been very busy with the move and starting work and settling in. But I promise to resume updating regularly again. Tonight – a short post.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I have to wake up at 4 AM to open so that was a lovely birthday surprise. I can only hope that something better will come out of tomorrow. I’ve finally warmed up to the number 24. It can’t be worse than 23. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I have a pretty good feeling about it, but I don’t want to jinx it.
My birthday has always made me inexplicably sad. Actually, not so inexplicably, but not many people understand why when I try to explain it. It always comes out sounding self-deprecating. I had a birthday party when I was in kindergarten, and apparently, I told my mom I never wanted to have one ever again. And I didn’t until I was 21. I was fresh out of treatment and felt like I needed to celebrate me for once. So I did. My best friend threw me a party and my ex took me on a weekend trip to NYC during the Christmas season. Ever since then I’ve felt more comfortable with my birthday, but it still usually puts me in a 24 hour funk. Growing up, the thought of anyone celebrating me made me very uncomfortable and overwhelmed and self-conscious. Obviously, now I know that I am fucking awesome, but still. It’s a day that makes me anxious. I get stuck in my head.
I want a lot of things this year, but mostly, I want good things. No matter how old I get, I will always pick up pennies off the ground and search for the brightest star at night. But wishing can only get me so far. It’s up to me to go out there and find those good things. I’m up for the challenge.