I’m about to admit something I rarely tell anyone, because it’s not important.
Today, is my birthday.
I don’t tell people or make a big deal of it, because it’s just another day.
I didn’t actually do anything worth celebrating all those years ago. I mean, honestly my mother should be celebrated more so. I almost killed her, and she lost quite a lot of blood. Thankfully everything turned out just fine, so that’s cool.
Anyway, most of my birthdays I just feel sad. Probably because I’ve worked every birthday since I was 17 years old, including my 21st birthday, so I just never felt the need to get excited and celebrate.
Today, was quite the exception.
Obviously I didn’t go crazy and celebrate, and I did have to work, but it was a not half bad day.
I didn’t have to deal with someone yelling at me for the toner turning their hair purple, because it was so damn white to begin with.
I didn’t have to deal with someone forgetting my birthday for the fourth year in a row.
I ate a two a.m. burrito.
I woke up next to an extremely lovely man.
I have three brand new books that I am excited to read.
I am so.. happy.
Terrible, Thanks for Asking. 