Birthdays are probably the most obscure holidays out there. I mean, you can't predict these things. They aren't regulated by the federal government or the lunar cycle. So how can people live with the thought that it is someone's birthday today, and heaven forbid it is someone you know, and you forgot. It could be your own.
Of course, it is my birthday today. And what a birthday it was. I woke up around nine, remembered I had a book report due in English this week so I read for three hours until I finally finished the book which ended up with the main character commiting suicide. Happy birthday indeed.
The day has been pretty boring, but no more than expected. We were planning on having a little celebration or something tonight, but my dad had to teach in Salt Lake, my mom was sick, and my siblings didn't really care. I ended up going to Cafe Rio by myself, and then coming home and eating a piece of cake, by myself. The problem with all this though is that I didn't really care. I didn't feel neglected or sad or anything. I wish I could've sat there eating my cake, gently weeping while singing Happy Birthday in a shaky voice to myself.
I take back that my siblings didn't care. At least one of them did. That's the married one, Mike. He bought me two king-sized Twitrices (plural of Twix). It's weird, ever since he got married, he seems to remember all of the family celebration things. Like, he even remembered about my parents anniversary this past week. I didn't even know my parents were married. It's like, once you have the constant presence of a wife around, you start caring about stuff and doing little things to make others feel happy. Now I know why so many guys avoid marriage.
Anyway, back to birthdays. Nobody likes their birthday. I think that's been cleared up and is common knowledge already. However, in my case, the actual leading up to my birthday was much worse than the birthday itself. And I'm pretty sure it was worse than my original birthday too. And that's saying something. A week or two before my birthday was when it began. People always like, "Hey, your birthday's coming up! Wait, you're not seventeen yet? That's so weird. I remember when I was that young..." And then they go on treating you like a two year-old. This did not bother me when I turned two, but it bothers me now.
And then you got people like Luke, who share the same birthday as you. He would go on fantasizing about how we will know 18 year olds in a little bit and that he had already drawn up the paperwork for a subscription to Seventeen Magazine. You keep on truckin', Luke.
And why are birthdays such a big deal? It's like, "Wow, you're still alive. Here's five bucks." Not that I don't enjoy being handed money, but....okay, that but isn't going anywhere. I enjoy being handed money. Period.
And to end my perfect birthday, I am now blogging.
Happy Birthday. There's no such thing.