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Saturday, Apr. 06, 2002 / 3:05 p.m. ~Writing What I Feel, in My Diary~ This is the truth. Not that what came previously was not, but the reality is that I have no idea what to do today. I feel an obligation to myself to make myself happy, to do something indicative of a Birthday, to treat me, to spend money on me, buy me things, take me out, get me a good meal, but I feel pitiful and alone. I was sitting at the game last night, enjoying my easy to come by inebriation, thinking yes, there was a time when I was welcome, when I was accepted and loved, when I came into this world and that fact alone made people happy. A time when every birthday was an excuse for my mom to get in the kitchen and fire up her mixer to bake another Duncan Hines cake, or go to the store for a coconut cake, her favorite. Presents, the family, candles to blow out, a song sung, me feeling the center of attention and happy when that passed. A dinner, always a dinner, home cooked or eaten out, someplace nice, swanky, expensive, in later years of my choosing, but not always with company I'd choose. And recently I've chosen everything myself. Last year I went to see "Memento" on my birthday, took the day off from work, wore my Birkenstocks, a tshirt and jeans, though it was still too cool. I got takeout from my favorite Thai restaurant and sat on the highway in rush hour bringing it home to eat. Now, here, I've logged off and logged back on, I've done searches at Google and Yahoo trying to find free birthday dinners locally, looked for things to do on your birthday, and I'm not finding anything. I don't want to spend money. I don't want to splurge. I don't want to get out in Saturday beautiful day traffic with all the other slobs going here and there, I don't want to think about being 41 and how old that is, but how young I feel, but how old I feel too, and how washed up, how over it all seems, this life, how depressed it ultimately makes me, and how I've received Birthday wishes from total strangers, virtual strangers, and some online friends, but heard not one word from my own brother and his wife. I think Birthdays can really suck if you're not oblivious to the reality of them. What it really means, what it once meant, and how nothing lasts and everyone disappears sooner or later. I can't take me out to eat on my birthday, are you kidding? Me, go to some restaurant and request my free meal? I couldn't handle it, the looks I'd get from the wait staff, and management, because they'd all remark to one another how pitiful it would look. No, I think I'll look at the beautiful day from inside, and try not to feel totally sorry for myself, try not to remember times when I felt loved and appreciated, try not to remember my mom entering the dining room holding the cake out in front of her, one hand in front of the lit candles to keep them from blowing out, singing that silly Happy Birthday song, me blowing out candles while the camera's flash bulb flashed. Picturing those photos I still have, photos from every birthday ever, all of them, every birthday made special by my mom because she truly did love me. And no one's come close to that kind of love since. It really was nice that the women at work made that effort, and the whole time I knew that was it, that was all I'd get and I tried not to be sad or depressed about it, but now, today, I want to show my driver's license all around at every establishment, see what I can get for free, because this is the one day all year when I can, but I won't. I don't think I'll go anywhere. I didn't mean to get this depressed and miserable, really, it just sort of happened. I dreamed, the night before last, that I ran into the last man I had sex with, the one night stand, at Publix. I saw him first, then he saw me, he acknowledged me, but just to be friendly to a stranger, but I knew him instantly. I said, "You don't remember me, do you?", and he looked so puzzled, uncomfortable, I said, "We met at the Arena, after the game....", and as he remembered, he became even more uncomfortable, and that was all, I guess. I must've awakened then, gone back to sleep to dream something else. I still keep thinking there are things to do on one's birthday, and this is the day to do them, that next year I should really be more prepared. Like maybe if you go to the museum they give you a free Picasso postcard when you prove it's your birthday, or if you go to fill up your car's tank at the gas station you get a gallon free, or maybe if you go to Baskin Robbins they give you a free scoop, and I think I should know these things, I should know, why don't I? Isn't someone else supposed to be in charge of this day? Isn't this supposed to be the one day when I am treated like a Queen? When I don't even have to dress myself if I don't want? Oh well. I'm thinking a lot about the survey I saw on Candace's and Kassia's diaries today, remembering where I was 15 years ago, 10, 5, etc., wondering if I should do it too, do I want to remember, do I want to go back in time, and I'm not sure I do, but I started anyway, in my head. Maybe that's what got me depressed, not just being unsure of how to spend this day. Maybe it was the going back in time, and not being happy about where I was, or where I am now. Gladys is awake and running around, pawing at me, trying to tell me something. I think she wants to eat, but it is definitely not time yet. The air conditioning is on, it's set on automatic, and I guess it seems too warm in here, so there it is, and I'm chilly. I can see a planting of bright yellow tulips from my bedroom window, and I took a picture of my roses, on regular Kodak film, to show later, or just to have later. For the first time in several months there is film in my camera. Loading it felt good, reminded me how much I love using it, my camera I've had since 1978 or 1979, who knows? I can think of nothing I want to be doing. Other than this, writing what I feel. Cost of the War in Iraq
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