“Poor language, doesn’t deserve such treatment.”

I have been a birthday brat for as long as I remember. Something about sharing a cake (usually chocolate because the smaller kid always gets what they want and I was always the oldest), sharing a party, and still being “forgotten” by my step grandma turned me into a birthday monster when I was older. People laugh at me for it, and I know it’s immature but much like the cartoons I can’t get enough of, it didn’t seem to matter what other people thought. I’ll admit I felt a little embarrassed by it whenever more adult  people would mention my birthday obsession. But then I figured screw that, I need to celebrate me sometimes. A birthday is as good a reason as any. B tries, but I find I amble between thinking something HUGE is going to happen (very much like Jess from New Girl) or being very meh about it all.

 Ever since COVID I just expected to get a meal out of it somehow. Either delivered or going out. Hell even before COVID it didn’t take much. Just doing SOMETHING made the day slightly more important and feel better. Once I just rode around garage sales with a friend and that turned out to be a lot of fun. Trips to the coast. It didn’t take much, the idea of others thinking of me at all makes me happy I guess. But I’ve stopped planning things since 40 didn’t go like I thought it would. Then this year with my mom dying, I seemed to care even less. I knew I couldn’t take my usual week off because of work things and timing. A friend seemed determined to do something with me and so I said sure. Let’s plan something. But as I told another friend last weekend, it’s hard to throw a party. 20 people say they’ll come and then you maybe get 8 of them. It’s hard to plan for that kind of shit. I don’t really blame them, I’ve certainly skipped my share of parties due to this or that. Mostly transportation I guess. 

She put up a notice and I picked Beer Garden to try and give people options and it wouldn’t matter if everyone had a credit card. I didn’t pick it to drink beer, I drank water the whole time. And I got two friends. Three if you count B. But I did get lunch bought for me!

It’s hard to keep trying to plan things when you can’t be sure who will come. Plus then my feelings get hurt. Even my usual text from my best friend from high school didn’t show up until the day afterwards. She apologized and I said it’s all right like I always do (and texted her back within a minute, how pathetic and needy could I be?) and that was the end of our communication. I don’t think we’re friends anymore. I guess it’s my fault for thinking I was joking with her hubby online and then I got blocked when I thought we were kidding? Who let me internet? Hahahaha. Oh well. I can’t change that or take it back. She doesn’t comment or like my posts and she’s yet to mention my mom dying. One of the few people who knew my mom. That did make me sad, she kind of made a reappearance in my life after my dad died so maybe I had a weird hope she’d suddenly want to talk or hang out.

I’m working on my expectations because what I find lately is that no planning is better. The random get together last weekend, plans made at lunch the prior weekend and it somehow got pulled off. I could’ve seen more people, would have loved to see more people but I take what I can get. And sometimes that means I get impromptu hang outs with my old neighbor who I haven’t seen in years. We’ve talked but the last time I saw her was March 2020. It wasn’t technically for my birthday, but I’m counting it so that next year I can remember that fun thing as a “birthday doing”. True or not. And it was lovely to enjoy such a huge back yard. I am envious. My yard is communal and I’d probably get hit by some ball or have to listen to shrieking children.

Even though I’m working on myself and expectations I thought…well. My mom died this year, maybe that will bring friends around for this birthday? Stupid of me. I can’t control how people act around me or treat me only how I react to it. 

I used to say about my old boss, “if it’s everyone, it’s probably you”.

So it’s probably me. I will hazard a guess that maybe people are sick of hearing about my work or how much I hate my current residence. I will take that to heart and will probably find myself pulling back into a drought again. That’s why I’m here I guess. Screaming into the void so I can stop annoying everyone around me with my petty bullshit problems. Things could be so much worse! (another trite saying people use to try and make something terrible that happened to you better, I do it all the time. My step monster wasn’t my real dad so everything he did to me wasn’t so bad, right? We’re not blood. It’s better that way.)

There will be no parties at this house. I think every time I see A she apologizes for not visiting, but “my house is so small”. Oh I know how small it is. Trust me. If I had a yard I’d invite people over more, but que sera. It’s not meant to be. Even if my house wasn’t so small, the parking is somehow even worse then my old townhouse. M pointed out how we could probably make money renting our parking space out, but then we won’t have one if we want it. For the rare visitor I get. As M pointed out, it’s pretty much her spot. Of course then she mentioned how much she highly recommends driving and my brain heard “damn I am sick of driving you around” so I’ll probably do my best not to ask her for rides anytime soon. Thanks brain! You worked with passive aggressive women so long after being raised by one, you STILL assume people aren’t saying what they really mean. In the shower I was thinking of how I’d always look to my mother. See how her face looked. Was she mean or nice this particular day? I still do that shit. Attribute feelings to people I don’t even know that well. They must be mad at me. I’ll just leave them alone until they are happier. 

 

I posted a typo in a title post here and didn’t catch it until I came back, weeks later. The lovely bf asked if I obsessively re-read what I write and I do, but I added the title at the time of posting and somehow didn’t catch the easily spelled word. I’ve been thinking about that question though and yes I re-read, that’s just editing…but sometimes I feel like I hit post and run from my blog. I used to re-read my posts. I used to watch for comments and reply to any until I got so many “you’re so fat” comments and then spam/bots. Now you can’t comment unless you have a sign in. I don’t get many comments. But I find I’m not posting these things based on who I think will read them, in fact I’m pretty sure few people I know are reading it. Certainly not as many as when I first started. Which might make it easier, the anonymity.

I’m posting them to get the words and feelings out. It’s become my diary of sorts. And who knows with the internet, I could be helpful to some other lost and sad sexual assault survivor. I certainly found many helpful things in books and sometimes on the internet. Even after I am dead and gone, this blog may stay up and inspire someone else many years down the road. So that’s why I keep posting here. Also because I’m semi-surprised to find I like writing. I always have, but I just thought I was bad at it so why try and write anything? Meanwhile I was posting blogs left and right. Bad ones but it was practice. I just reread a few of the first from 2004 and oy. 

Writing thoughtful letters to people. It’s only recently (five years?) that I tried writing something fictional. Maybe I’ll post it here when I finally finish it. This might be my favorite part of whatever process I have, the daydreaming about it while I’m falling asleep. Thinking of scenes I can add. If a scene doesn’t make sense, make it into a dream scene. Maybe it’s all crap, but sometimes I write a line that I read and re-read and fall in love with. So I guess I might be doing something worthwhile. Hell, does it really matter if it’s not worthwhile?

 

As they say, you do you. I fully intend to embrace my brain supplying me with ideas (even at night I guess), even if they fly out from my fingers badly maimed and never as beautiful as I imagined them.