I’m not sure, but I’ve become really disdainful of my own birthday over the past few years. All I want are for people to forget about it. Who cares? I don’t need no stinkin’ holiday! This year, I worked on my birthday, and thankfully had plenty of non-birthday-ness. At any rate, I had a good enough time, and blew far more money on myself than, in hindsight, I should have. Maybe it’s just that I want my birthday all to myself? Maybe I just don’t want to share? Maybe I’m just godless and don’t believe in no magical Jesuses and my increasingly heathen ways* are finally starting to affect more than just my outward worldview, but my inward self-image as well.

Maybe I just resent my childhood? Or is it my adulthood, which i most certainly detest, and with profound conviction? Maybe the mere passage of my increasingly limited time is not cause for celebration or merest remembrance to me.

Or maybe it’s just that much more special when only a couple of really close friends remember?

And maybe I need counseling for my crippling social phobia.

Having said that… your birthday is a special and magical day to me, gentle reader, and I do mean that. And, regardless, thanks to those good people who did remember. Please don’t do it again until further notice.

* ironically, less amoral and illicit