happy birthday to me

Once again, I present the birthday issue.

It’s sweater weather. Sweater and cocoa by the fireplace weather. Only I’m sick, so there is no cocoa this year. The sweater part was a go, though. I forced myself to shower and drink coffee this morning in an effort to feel like a normal person. I’m still rather ill. I slipped on the new sweater and jeans I bought last week. They made me feel better. It’s not like I go anywhere. I don’t know why I buy myself clothes.

It’s winter here. Hardcore winter, as far as Seattle is concerned. Snow fell this morning as I was waking up. That’s something I’ll never forget – I turned 28 in the falling snow. Snow is perfect and forever magical to a girl from Hawai`i. It’s thick on the ground, weighing down tree branches. Now that night has fallen, sheets of ice have formed on the roads. Traffic cams are entertaining. Better than tv. The highways are littered with cars fallen into ditches, and turned sideways, blocking entire lanes.

Part of the mystery of snow is its silence. Rain falls heavily. It announces itself. Snow sneaks up on you. You turn your back on the window, and the next time you look, the world is covered in its icy blanket. It’s tricky. But that silence allows the echoes of solitude to bounce on your apartment walls. It amplifies the pain.

It’s silly really. The way we are conditioned to expect certain things on certain days of the year. Birthdays. It doesn’t seem like they should matter any more than any other day. But I am a girl and I have been trained these past 28 years that birthdays are special and somehow there’s an expectation that I deserve to be treated like a princess on that day… And actually I’m normally one of those people who indulges in ‘birthday week’ – because really, I’m worth that much.

I lit a fire, turned on the radio, and curled up in the recliner with a blanket and a book. But even the best book in the world couldn’t distract me from the fact that I’m so terribly lonely. And sad. And feeling like crap. And I cried. Because when you turn 28 and you’re alone in the snow and your life is nothing like what you ever thought it would be, crying is what happens. Sure I know things *never* turn out the way you plan, and I’m really very fortunate to have a stable job and a place to live and a car and food, and a high speed internet connection. I know that. But sometimes I reserve the right to feel a little bit shitty.

It can only get better.

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Untitled. Again.

This entry has been written and deleted and written again, and rewritten, but never actually finished, so many times. It’s been so long since I’ve bothered to sit down and concentrate on writing. I sorta forget how.

Last time we spoke, he had left. I’ve made it out of the adjustment period alive. There’s no reason for me to say it that way – I’m nowhere close to not alive. Being alone hasn’t brought on the wall of tremors and lonliness I expected. It’s hardly even painful. So far. I’ve spent most of the past two months waiting for the other shoe to drop, holding my breath for the emotional outbursts, and expecting the world to come crashing down on my head at any time. Nothing of the sort has happened, and I’m beginning to realize that nothing of the sort /will/ happen. I think I spent so much time unhappy with him, that now being without him is just a huge relief.

Don’t get me wrong though. I’m far from happy. I try to keep the crying to a minimum, because my eyes get noticeably swollen and I don’t like to answer people at work when they ask me if I stayed up too late drinking. (“No, you idiot, I stayed up all night curled up in a ball in my laundry closet. Shall I call you next time to smoothe my tear-soaked hair out of my face?”)

NaNoWriMo is becoming my traditional November failure. Holidailies was closed by the time I even got around to remembering to sign up. And that’s a good thing, really, because as you can tell, I didn’t take the time to write even ONE December entry.

2004 is here. I get a year older in a couple of days. I’m not motivated to do much lately, but that will pass. It always does. The fact that I opened up a text editor to write this here entry is a good sign.

There is more, and I’ll work on it. Until then, may this year be better than the last. Please.

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