It wasn’t the greatest of birthdays. I guess they can’t all be good. Last year, we moved on my birthday. That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t particularly fun. One year, when I was a kid, my grandpa died on my birthday. This year was just…lonely.
It used to be, on your birthday, people would call you. They would actually take time to call you and wish you a happy day. Your phone would ring and ring and that was my favorite part of a birthday.
I got one call today – a sister – and then after I started writing this, my mom and then the other sister called.
And that was it.
I’m not gonna lie, it makes me sad that I don’t have one single friend who would call me on my birthday. No friends called (two friends texted), and certainly no one thought, “Gee, Mel’s birthday is Saturday and her husband is out of town and she’s got those kids non-stop, so we should get together for lunch, or maybe I should take her kids for a few hours so she can breathe.”
I don’t know why it’s so hard to make friends here, and frankly I’m tired of analyzing it.
I’m another year older. It’s not a big deal. But I think I’ll eat another slice of cake – with a little Irish Cream – and forget this entirely forgettable day.