i'm starting not to care either way about birthdays. meh, just another year. half the time i can't even remember how old i am when people ask me. i'm gonna be one of those crazy old ladies whos age is "about 83, give or take a couple years."
thirdhour wrote:I always don't tell anyone when my birthday is, then sit at home crying because no one remembered.
You sound like me, without the crying. I tell a couple close friends, but besides that, I am silent. My parents usually forget about me yearly....
And my grandmother called me last week to wish me happy birthday, even though my birthday isn't until July....I hate her....
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
My grandmother doesn't know my name. I will forever be "Harold's son" "Eric's brother" or "Hey you, get me a drink, ok?" She burned her bridges with me a long long time ago. I haven't heard the words happy birthday from her since I was 14 until last week, and she didn't even get the month right. Not to mention whenever the extended family would get invited to family trips, my brother and I were mysteriously excluded time after time. Things like that stick with you, and I hate her for it.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
that sucks. but i know how the extended family alienation thing goes. my aunt and uncle in minnesota locked my mom and i out of their house at 1 in the morning and we had nowhere else to stay. the minnesota relatives only call now to ask for money for my grandpa in the nursing home. family is just crap.
Yeah, I know how that goes....I feel for ya. Just cut off all ties from the family and deal directly with the nursing home, I guess. Anyways, the only people to remember my birthday last year were my brother and Stephanie. I still have the post she gave me up in my room. I like it, I wake up to the band playing on my wall every morning
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
On further review, Bethany did remember my birthday. I bitched at her how I would be forgotten about all week, so if she forgot it, she would get a pen in her throat.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
I think my grandma is starting to hate me. Maybe because we only visit her every other Sunday, and I refuse to keep her clothes after she makes me try them on. Plus she used to pay me $10 a dress to try them on so she could take pictures of me.
!EMiLY!
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know