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Happy Birthday... aka the day I was ejected from the womb.

It occurred to me today why it is that I despise this day more and more each year. Its not just because I am getting a year older that this wave of dismal distress overcomes me, although that idea never seems to help. Its the hype that comes along with the term "birthday". Everyone places so much emphasis on this day that it rarely lives up to the excitement and happiness expected.
Again I find myself sitting and thinking over what I expected this day to be, and realizing it do not even come close to sizing up. I didn't expect any superficial treatment, or a surprise party (which is impossible to have now that I'm in a new city without any friends). But I did hope to take a walk to see the ice sculptures in town, watch a movie of my choice with my loved, and avoid doing my most hated chore.... the dishes. I also held out a bit of hope to go to the art store down the street to purchase a painting canvas (which at this moment, would be exceptional, considering the emotional energy i am manifesting).
Yet i find myself stuck in the apartment, my lover asleep, no ice sculptures seen, no movie watched, no canvas bought, and worst of all, irritated by the feeling my dish-pan hands after finally sucking it up, and cleaning the pile left in the sink.
It should be said that none of this actually send me over the edge to "mad" or anywhere even close. I just find it melodramatic and annoying that it happens to be on this day, of all days, where everything "should go my way."
I wish birthdays never had to be noted. That way, id never be let down.
And as always on this day, it is snowing.
and oddly, I miss my home.