It’s My Birthday

I’m 42 today. It’s funny because I still feel like I’m in my 20’s. Maybe because I act like a child at times and I still don’t have my shit together. Actually, I know twenty year olds who have their shit more together than I do. I gave birth to two of them. So I have some catching up to do with people my age.

Around this time of year, I usually dwell on all the accomplishments I haven’t accomplished. I dwell on how my 42 year old counterparts are way more successful than I am. I do a bit of self loathing and then I crawl into the bed and blame my mood on my seasonal depression until spring rolls around and I forget why I was depressed in the first place. I’ve decided this year will be different.

I’m spending another birthday single. I think this makes the 3rd or the 4th (some things will stay the same). I’ve stopped counting, really. I’ve also stopped looking. I’ve deleted the online dating apps. I’ve deleted my profiles. I’m still on two dating groups on Facebook, but I’ll probably be leaving those too since every day on there, I see the dating plight of men and women and it is not encouraging. At all.

I am still talking to two of the online dating “date” guys. Only because they are still texting me. So sometimes I text them back. I haven’t seen either of them again. Just today one compared me to a car. I’m trying to find the romance in it. I guess it’s romantic to him because he’s a mechanic so when he says I’m a 67 Ford Fairlane, he’s calling me sexy, but I can’t really be sure….

Today will likely be the day that I just stop talking to both of them, and all the stragglers that show up randomly texting me. The ten o clock men. The small talkers. The boring. The ones who aren’t even close to what I’m looking for.

I’m thinking of taking a year to myself. Not that I haven’t taken the last three years to myself, because I have, but I’ve shared it sporadically with some chuckleheads who weren’t worth my time. I’d like to say that I’m going to go the whole year without sex, too, but if you are an avid reader of this blog, you and I both know that if I said those words here today, tomorrow I would be a liar. So I won’t put that kind of stress or pressure on myself.

But I don’t have time to nurture a relationship right now. That I know for sure. I’m too busy giving birth to this book that I am absolutely in love with at the moment. I want nothing more than to share it with you, but I will when the time is right.

I’ve already gotten a few phone calls from some ex boyfriends wishing me a happy birthday. One was from a dude who screwed me out of hundreds of dollars and still owes it to me. He wanted to take me out soon on a date. I’d have just been happy if he would have offered to pay my comcast bill. Hell, he could have paid half the bill and I would have been happy. Times are tough, but I’m not one to cry over money lost. Honestly, if everybody who owed me money (from back when I was making decent money) paid me back for all the money I’ve loaned out over the last three years. I could probably live the next three months and not have to worry about a single bill. But people are shitty, which is why I never expect to be paid back when I do something nice, because then I’m never disappointed and I’m certainly not going to go out on a date with someone who so readily screwed me over just because he forgot that he did or didn’t want to address it.

Another ex was going to come take me out, but I just don’t see the point in all that back tracking. Things didn’t work for a reason. And even though I know people can change, because I know I’ve changed a lot over the last few years, I haven’t changed enough to get over the grudges I hold toward people who have hurt me. I can forgive, but I don’t really get fooled twice. If you loved me, you would have made different choices, ya know? It may be harsh, but that’s my reality right now.

So since the chances of me getting mountains of money sent to me by people who owe me and an endless pile of love letters for my birthday are rather slim, I decided to write myself a love letter so I have something to wake up to. (It’s not as sad as it sounds…. or maybe it is).

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A love letter- to myself, from myself (no bags of money included). 

I mean, if I’m not my biggest supporter, how can I expect anyone else to support me, right?

I did think that I would be in a different spot in my life by now, but I refuse to dwell on the what ifs. I’m not sure I would change anything right now if I could, except for maybe being in possession of  a winning lottery ticket.

So for my birthday today, I will write. I will work on the “paying” assignments that everybody keeps saying is not a “real” job. I will work on my book. I have a lunch date with my friend (mom of 5), then I will come home, write some more and go to an open mic poetry thing tonight with my other friend, Maranda. Because poetry makes me happy. And they have vodka there.

So happy birthday to me. I am officially proclaiming this next year to be my one selfish year. I will go back to being the loving, giving, caring, (sometimes stupidly naive) person I usually am on my next birthday. But for this year, I am focusing on me, my goals, my dreams, and my kid. Which is really all that matters to me right now.

 

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