Happy Birthday to Me.

 

I have to turn twenty-four today. So far, it's not too off to a very good start. I woke up alone and I'm still itchy from the soap fiasco two days ago. It's a very sad state of affairs. My mother has called and we've changed the lunch plans to dinner ones, since I was so late getting up.

Obviously, it could be much worse.

Last year, Writer Guy moved away on my birthday. Okay, so officially, I cried and begged and probably screamed and demanded and threatened a little bit, and he stayed and spent my birthday with me and left at seven o'clock the next morning. I had a wonderful party last year, although I did get horribly ill.

Two years ago, Waste showed up, climbed in a window and took all his stuff while I was out with my mom. Who I, um, hadn't exactly told yet that he was moving out and we'd broken up back in October. It never seemed like quite the right time to mention it. I didn't really have a party or anything.

Three years ago I had the most lack-luster 21st birthday ever. Mom took me shopping and I got a really great t-shirt and a skirt that other people really seem to like. It's the t-shirt I use as a "pattern" (more like as a model) when I'm chopping up and reconstructing other shirts so they'll fit me better. That birthday was bad for a whole lot of reasons I don't want to talk about any more.

I'm sure my birthday will go off much better than all that this year. And either way, I leave the country on Monday...

posted by mary ann 9:59 AM