Sunday, November 13, 2005
I had to go back and read my post from last year's birthday just to confirm my suspicions: I really am a moody, demanding little bitch. Aparently it's going to be a yearly pattern of me bitching and complaining that nobody loves me enough to make me happy on my birthday. Wah wah waaaaah, poor pitiful me. I suck.
Thing is, I don't want to be like this. I want to be happy. I want to genuinely appreciate all the good things I have. I want to learn to enjoy what I have, remain driven to move forward, and let little disappointments pass me by. I don't want to get stuck over and over again on stupid moments that hurt my feelings or make me feel small or stupid.
Why is it a birthday is so important to me? I don't get it. Granted, my birthday was never made a *huge* deal as a kid, but it wasn't completely ignored, either. So why is it I seem to want a huge production every year? I never had a birthday party. I have this stupid fantasy of a birthday party--what am I, 12?? I think the part about that stupid fantasy that hurts the most is the fact that even Oprah Winphrey doesn't have the power and resources to find more than 3 people that give a damn enough about me to take even 2 hours out of one day to "celebrate Sassy". Most women grow to hate their birthdays because they feel old. I hate them because they make me feel lonely and unappreciated. I don't measure the quality of gifts I receive by the price tag, it really is the thought that counts for me--I want that gift to show me a connection, an understanding of who I am... evidence of *me* in their thoughts, an appreciation of who I am or what I do. When someone asks me "What do you want for your birthday?" I get this bell in my head warning that I'm about to go crazy... I don't want to TELL you what I want because what I want isn't a THING. And if I have to TELL you that I've been daydreaming about how cool it would be to have TiVo, or that I really want to download some songs from iTunes but I'm too cheap to spend what little cash I have on such a little luxury, then that means you don't really know me well enough to understand that. But I don't know, is that too much to expect? Am I really supposed to be thrilled if I can just get an Old Navy giftcard?
And I feel sorry for Rusty. I mean, **I** don't understand me, how the HELL can HE?
So, I had yet another stupid, disappointing, crap-filled birthday. I had to work an 8 hr shift yesterday, which was an unusually busy and super-crazy, frustrating and exhausting. I came home and was too tired to go out for a drink. Rusty had bought roses (which I had asked for the day before), and I went to bed relatively early (not before a nice, hot round of marital exercise, so to speak). I got up early enough this morning to go to the grocery store (we needed toilet paper), which I had to put on a credit card because I'm out of money again. Then back home with just enough time for more sex before driving to get the kids from their dad, bringing them back home, rushing to feed them lunch (aparently dad "forgot"), and then off to work again. Come home to find business as usual. No presents, no card, no cake.
See, Rusty bought me presents a month ago. When he got them, I told him--almost BEGGED him to put them in a closet somewhere and forget about it until today because I knew--I K*N*E*W that when today came and there was nothing for me to open, nothing waiting with a big bow on it, no special "I love you" moment, it would hurt my feelings. I knew it. I knew it a month ago and I tried to prevent it and here I am all upset and hating myself for it because I *did* get presents--two very cool and very expensive presents, and I can't just be freaking happy about it. I'm such a moody little bitch, I couldn't live with me if I were him...
Thing is, I don't want to be like this. I want to be happy. I want to genuinely appreciate all the good things I have. I want to learn to enjoy what I have, remain driven to move forward, and let little disappointments pass me by. I don't want to get stuck over and over again on stupid moments that hurt my feelings or make me feel small or stupid.
Why is it a birthday is so important to me? I don't get it. Granted, my birthday was never made a *huge* deal as a kid, but it wasn't completely ignored, either. So why is it I seem to want a huge production every year? I never had a birthday party. I have this stupid fantasy of a birthday party--what am I, 12?? I think the part about that stupid fantasy that hurts the most is the fact that even Oprah Winphrey doesn't have the power and resources to find more than 3 people that give a damn enough about me to take even 2 hours out of one day to "celebrate Sassy". Most women grow to hate their birthdays because they feel old. I hate them because they make me feel lonely and unappreciated. I don't measure the quality of gifts I receive by the price tag, it really is the thought that counts for me--I want that gift to show me a connection, an understanding of who I am... evidence of *me* in their thoughts, an appreciation of who I am or what I do. When someone asks me "What do you want for your birthday?" I get this bell in my head warning that I'm about to go crazy... I don't want to TELL you what I want because what I want isn't a THING. And if I have to TELL you that I've been daydreaming about how cool it would be to have TiVo, or that I really want to download some songs from iTunes but I'm too cheap to spend what little cash I have on such a little luxury, then that means you don't really know me well enough to understand that. But I don't know, is that too much to expect? Am I really supposed to be thrilled if I can just get an Old Navy giftcard?
And I feel sorry for Rusty. I mean, **I** don't understand me, how the HELL can HE?
So, I had yet another stupid, disappointing, crap-filled birthday. I had to work an 8 hr shift yesterday, which was an unusually busy and super-crazy, frustrating and exhausting. I came home and was too tired to go out for a drink. Rusty had bought roses (which I had asked for the day before), and I went to bed relatively early (not before a nice, hot round of marital exercise, so to speak). I got up early enough this morning to go to the grocery store (we needed toilet paper), which I had to put on a credit card because I'm out of money again. Then back home with just enough time for more sex before driving to get the kids from their dad, bringing them back home, rushing to feed them lunch (aparently dad "forgot"), and then off to work again. Come home to find business as usual. No presents, no card, no cake.
See, Rusty bought me presents a month ago. When he got them, I told him--almost BEGGED him to put them in a closet somewhere and forget about it until today because I knew--I K*N*E*W that when today came and there was nothing for me to open, nothing waiting with a big bow on it, no special "I love you" moment, it would hurt my feelings. I knew it. I knew it a month ago and I tried to prevent it and here I am all upset and hating myself for it because I *did* get presents--two very cool and very expensive presents, and I can't just be freaking happy about it. I'm such a moody little bitch, I couldn't live with me if I were him...
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