I don't remember what it was I was wishing for when this picture was taken- I'm guessing it probably was a cool new terrycloth shirt, a menstrual cycle, or my own pair of roller skates.
What I do remember is being excited about my birthday for probably a good month before it happened. What would I get? Who would I invite to my slumber party? Will I feel any older? When are my boobies finally going to grow?
For a number of reasons I'll tell you about someday when all of it is finally something I can talk about in the past tense, I really wasn't too excited for the big day this year. This last year has been a bit of a roller coaster, and the last few months in particular have been fairly challenging and soul-sucking for me. Getting older on top of it all just kind of seems unnecessarily cruel.
I have to do something today that promises to take my soul, crumple it into a ball, then toss it out of a 13th story window to the street below. It's something I can't avoid- it has to be done.
Such is life. Sorry to be so cryptic, but I just can't lie and say that I'm excited or happy about today when I have such a big pile of shit on my plate where cake should be.
But honestly, I feel strangely optimistic today. I'll be fine, I'm not sitting here crying my eyes out. I'm not depressed, I'm not leaving you all or anything.
Do me a favor- have some cake for me today- it makes me happy when you have cake. OK?
I'll be back tomorrow- happier, and (hopefully) a wee bit relieved.