Why, how, and in what possible way, is football interesting?
Was saying to asrana last night that part of what makes me so sad is that I wanted this year's birthday to be different, to be *good*, and it doesn't look like it will be. "It's supposed to be a celebration of my being alive," I said, "And instead it's yet again going to be a day when I wish I were anyone but myself."
It's been horrible for the last three years. The one before that, I can't remember, because the whole year was so bad that I can't remember much about any of it.
I wanted this one to be special. Damn it. I know birthdays don't mean a whole lot to most of you, but it's the only day of the year when some people stop treating me like dirt and make me feel briefly as though I'm allowed to be alive. So birthdays mean a lot to me.
Ach. Whine, whine, mope, angst, whine, blah. Sorry.