I don’t know why I dislike the idea of people celebrating my birthday. Maybe I didn’t get the memo from my family that the big giant deal made on birthdays ends at 18 and it crushed me. Maybe I actually like it a little, but a deep sense of guilt permeates me for liking that kind of attention? Lord knows I like to be listened to and watched as if on stage sometimes. What I mean is, I want people to view me as knowledgeable and charming, dependable and as someone to look up to. But I’m a wall flower by nature (and occasionally by hormones). So I want people to only pay attention to me when I’m seeking it, when I’m ready for it, when I know my lines. Otherwise, I like to be able to melt into the cracks of everyday casual and relax as I disappear into usual.
So when people make a big deal about my birthday, Continue reading