We celebrated my birthday early this month and mom posted some pictures of the festivities on Facebook and people wished me a happy birthday. Except it wasn't on my actual birthday. So now people think my birthday is March 2nd. It's not. I don't have my birthday on Facebook cause I don't like insincere birthday wishes. If you remembered on your own and it's like, two days later, that's cool. But if you only remembered because Facebook told you, and not because you scheduled a reminder or something, and you felt it was necessary to say something, I would rather you didn't. It makes me think you want people to think you're thoughtful and kind when really it was just bold text on your page that caught your eye.
Except my sister's mom. She can wish me a happy birthday in July if she wants to and I'd be pleased as punch about it cause she's one of most earnest people I know. Her well-wishings just make me think... she wishes me well. For Christmas one year, she got me a coat and scarf. It was a great coat too, which I still have even though it no longer fits cause I got chubby. (And fabulous!)
My mom made me a cake. It was, and still is, delicious. The other half of it is in my fridge and keep refraining from eating the entire thing. It's a struggle. She also hosted a taco night for me and I got to see friends who I rarely ever see. It was pretty exciting times guys.
I'm focusing on my birthday cause it's in a few days (obviously) and when I thought about it a few months ago it really brought me down. I was in that state of mind where it felt like everyone I knew was doing these great things, and reaching the goals you're supposed to reach when you become an adult. Not immediately when you become an adult, but at least before you're thirty because the stigma seems to be that after thirty if you haven't accomplished certain things than you're a loser or you lack motivation and drive, you have no ambition, blah blah blah.
At 8:37 Thursday morning I will officially turn a quarter of a century old.
I'm incredibly excited about it. I have no idea what's been happening lately with me mentally but this is the same event that made me devastated about the state of my life when I thought about it not even six months ago. Yet somehow, when I've considered it more recently, I am genuinely happy about it.
I thought by now I would have a better car, a better home (maybe be on the way to owning that home), be pregnant (if I didn't already have at least one tiny baby), have money saved so that when I had to take maternity leave we wouldn't be in the shit house, have a matching set of pots and pans (still a thing I hope to have one day... :le sigh:), have finally received an acceptance letter from an agent/editor/publishing house... I thought I would have done more by now.
Of the things that I have accomplished, which is absolutely not any of the above, I manage to look at my life and think how great it is. I know that where I am now isn't where I'll be in five years, or even next year. Twenty-five is exciting instead of terrifying because I say it is.
I have an amazing best friend, an amazing dog, a shabby apartment that people always seem to think is 'cute', I have a pretty great job (even though the people are disgusting), I write as often I can, I read as often as I can, every once in awhile I get in touch with people I haven't spoken to or seen in a long time and it doesn't seem like it's been that long, my family is insane but I guess I love them anyway, my Jeep is a piece of crap but Jeremy and I make jokes about it and it's not so bad afterward- what I'm driving at here is that there isn't an obvious amount of terrific going on in my life. And the operative word is 'obvious.' (Because it seems pretty terrific to me right now.)
