Monday, November 15, 2004
I give up having birthdays. I can't ever recall having a memorable or particularly good one. There's something about having birthdays now that awakens the 10 year old in me who thinks she should be Princess Of The Day, and it never works out that way, even just a little, so what little I do get falls flat. I need to just appreciate what I have and stop thinking some magical moment is going to burst onto the scene and make me feel particularly special or appreciated. The truth is nobody gives a crap if it's your birthday. I guess having a particularly bad couple of weeks, months, years, whathaveyou makes me particularly raw and in need of some special attention, but still, it's pretty juvenile. I need to just get the hell over it.
That said, Rusty put forth an enormous, and sincerely appreciated effort for me. I didn't get to see him until after the day had already pretty much been a big pile of steaming crap, though, so the petulant child in me wants to stop her foot and pout that it "doesn't count" somehow... But it does count. He rushed down here as soon as he could, even getting off work early to do it. He had dinner with my kids, who were behaving like wild oranguatans, and even tolerated an hour-long wait before we could get a table with a cool head (unlike me). He bought me an excellent gift (replaced an old Craptacular VCR). He bought some new jeans for the occassion (oh yum, he chose well, too!), and then took me out barhopping and dancing. He never once winced or complained about the cost. He did everything he could to make sure I had a good time, and I did. So why does that little brat still want to complain?? Bleh, I've just been so incredibly moody, I am absolutely dangerous. Must be PMS.
That said, Rusty put forth an enormous, and sincerely appreciated effort for me. I didn't get to see him until after the day had already pretty much been a big pile of steaming crap, though, so the petulant child in me wants to stop her foot and pout that it "doesn't count" somehow... But it does count. He rushed down here as soon as he could, even getting off work early to do it. He had dinner with my kids, who were behaving like wild oranguatans, and even tolerated an hour-long wait before we could get a table with a cool head (unlike me). He bought me an excellent gift (replaced an old Craptacular VCR). He bought some new jeans for the occassion (oh yum, he chose well, too!), and then took me out barhopping and dancing. He never once winced or complained about the cost. He did everything he could to make sure I had a good time, and I did. So why does that little brat still want to complain?? Bleh, I've just been so incredibly moody, I am absolutely dangerous. Must be PMS.
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