Ask me when is the last day that I didn’t go into work. December 27th, that’s when. I took the weekend after Christmas off. I have been in every other day. Yes, even New Year’s Day. I thought we were going to slow down this week. No, well, we have slowed down. I only went in after hours one evening this week. And I was only in for four hours today. Mm-hmm. Instead of a 60 hr week, I think this will be less than 50. So good then.

Aw, I try not to whine too hard on the internet. But I am so, so, goddamn burnt out.

I’d tell you cute kid stories, but, you know, I haven’t really seen my kids a lot lately.

I’d tell you cogent thoughts I’ve been thinking, but I haven’t had time to think anything lately.

Oh, here’s something.

‘Kay, you know when you have an occasion in your life, about which you might have some expectations. And then that occasion comes around, something about it disappoints you. And it seems pretty minor, and there will be more of that occasion. So you brush it off and move on. You figure it’ll be better next time, and there’s lots of next times, so it’s not a big deal. But then, you know, a couple more of these occasions pass, and they just seem to disappoint more often than not. And with each time it happens, the issue becomes worse. It’s the fault of the damned optimism. Because if you weren’t so busy being optimistic that next time will make up for it, you’d have said something to people or taken steps to make sure it was going to be a good experience. At some point the optimism has faded and the disappointment has solidified into an expectation, and since it’s an expectation you finally figure you should take responsibility for nipping this trend in the bud, then that disappointment wells up inside you so that you don’t even know how you could go about making your feelings known without it being a mess of pouting. And pouting certainly won’t make you enjoy the next occasion. You can’t really disentangle how much of the disappointment is because that’s just what you expect and so it takes so very little for you to say, “Oh, well, you see? That’s how it goes” and how much of it is because with each disappointment, your hopes for a better next one get a little more inflated until they’re not really realistic.

Okay, well, that’s what my birthday has become. I’ve had some really good birthdays, because some years I have been lucky enough to be a part of a group of friends who were really good about taking care of each other. And some years, it was totally just dumb luck that everyone I wanted to see could make it out. And I’m lucky enough to have a family who cares and one really good friend who has been there for me on every birthday for as long as I’ve known her. But many years the dumb luck goes the other way and I end up having very low key birthdays and pretending that that is what I wanted – which, actually, is easier, because mostly I am very, very, depressed around my birthdays, so even if someone (for example) spends the entire day making me a triple-chocolate-mousse cake, I am moping because that is the only person out of ten who even showed up, even though a number of people RSVPed that they were coming and even though I spent the last two days doing stupid things like making party favours (because I’m ridiculous like that).

So anyhow, that’s why this is going to be the last year that I celebrate it. From now on, I only celebrate rebirthday – which takes place June 15th, and where I am allowed to make a big fuss because in addition to celebrating me, I will be also celebrating all my friends’ rebirthdays (even if they don’t know about rebirthday). It will be like mini-Christmas-in-June and it will be fabulous.

And I guess I’m kind of clinging to the thought of how great rebirthday is going to be, because I am just realizing how down I do get about this and because I’m probably going to be a serious bear until this stupid birthday is over.