I know I don't usually do anything special to celebrate... but there's still something shitty about having a birthday fall on a Monday. Yet here we are, coming up on a Monday birthday. That's right, in five short days I'll be another year older. 37. Not a big one, but getting closer. The pessimist in me, of course, has me wondering if anyone will remember. But my phone is usually painfully silent. Except for the grandma call every year. Love that old woman. Even if I have to shout at the phone so she can hear me.
The thing is, I guess I just feel selfish admitting that I want to hear from people on my birthday. I want to feel important enough to be remembered.
I sound melodramatic again.
But is it really a selfish thing? I don't want anything other than to hear from the people in my life, friends I haven't seen in ages, you know?
In the end, I guess it doesn't matter. Not really. I think I was just musing on the subject because I can't sleep. As usual.
I need to stop insomnia blogging.
