quick post tonight...i'm tired.
this story is odd. it's bizarre. and it's probably not true, or there's more that the 5.0 aren't telling, but i'm not certain which is worse: to be (allegedly) killed by getting stabbed with a salad fork as you wrestle drunk in your front yard, or that your parents thought so little of you when you were born to name you Timber John Wolfe. poor guy.
http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/8183962/detail.html
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To
it used to be that my birthday, any birthday really, was a huge event. when i was young there were parties...but i didn't have clowns. i hate clowns. that clown from "it" scared me shitless and....oh, tangent. back to the point. i had birthday parties. my friends had them too. high school was mostly just hanging out with friends, having dinner with the parents, or whatever i felt like doing that particular day.
college was a completely different story, at least from what i can remember of it. my 21st was epic, like most would claim theirs to be as well. i actually had my first cavity filled the morning of my 21st, and spent the rest of the night in a complete drunken stupor. fantastic is how i'd describe it. the 2 or 3 years following graduation were fun too. usually spent at a bar in chicago, i'd go out till all hours of the night and end up calling into work the next day.
today is my birthday. i'm not sure if it's the sobering experiences i've had in the last 3 or 4 months, the fact that the weather is shitty on my "special" day for the first time in my memory, or the fact that i have so fewer friends here than i ever imagined i would, but today doesn't feel special. it feels like a monday. any monday.
i went to work today, to a job i hate incidentally, and went through the motions of what i perceive to be doing a good job. there were the obligatory "happy birthday"s from people that don't really care, and phone calls and emails from those that do. i got some money, as is the custom on march 20th, because for some reason i hate receiving gifts. but when i got home, i found only my dogs waiting to be taken out and an empty calendar, devoid of the watering hole activities i've grown accustomed to.
it's odd to think, but there's a battle going on in my head about what today really means. on one hand, it's very depressing to me that i don't have enough friends or enough knowledge of the area to go out and have a good time. and i've become an old fart, since i no longer care to go out till even 11pm on a weeknight, knowing i'll have to be up early for work. and it's equally saddening to think back to the days when my birthday was such a blast and the stark contrast in which they stand compared to today.
on the other hand, birthdays are just like any other day. or so i tell myself. today is monday. tomorrow is tuesday. same thing with a different spelling. i got up, went to work, came home. tomorrow i'll get up, go to work, and come home. really the only difference is that tomorrow i won't have anyone wishing me a happy anniversary of my birth, which i'm totally fine with.
what irks me is that the transformation from day of drunken fun and irresponsibility to day of regularity and mundane tasks came and went without so much as a hint that it was coming. at what point does your birthday become just another day? is there a standard number of years on earth where when you reach it you just stop caring?
it could be that i'll celebrate this weekend with some friends and have the time then i thought i'd have tonight. or, it could be that i won't do anything at all but sit back and reflect on how shitty the past 4 months have been and how i'm just grateful to even have another chance to celebrate the fact that i'm alive. for the past 26 years, 364 days of my life, i never cared, never even thought of expressing gratitude on a day supposedly dedicated to receiving attention.
today is different. i received a card each from my parents and from my grandmother. i've never been one to read the cards, but rather rip open the envelope and see how much money i got. today i read them. and then i broke down in tears. this birthday, though not nearly as entertaining as the others, is certainly more memorable. i guess this is growing up.
college was a completely different story, at least from what i can remember of it. my 21st was epic, like most would claim theirs to be as well. i actually had my first cavity filled the morning of my 21st, and spent the rest of the night in a complete drunken stupor. fantastic is how i'd describe it. the 2 or 3 years following graduation were fun too. usually spent at a bar in chicago, i'd go out till all hours of the night and end up calling into work the next day.
today is my birthday. i'm not sure if it's the sobering experiences i've had in the last 3 or 4 months, the fact that the weather is shitty on my "special" day for the first time in my memory, or the fact that i have so fewer friends here than i ever imagined i would, but today doesn't feel special. it feels like a monday. any monday.
i went to work today, to a job i hate incidentally, and went through the motions of what i perceive to be doing a good job. there were the obligatory "happy birthday"s from people that don't really care, and phone calls and emails from those that do. i got some money, as is the custom on march 20th, because for some reason i hate receiving gifts. but when i got home, i found only my dogs waiting to be taken out and an empty calendar, devoid of the watering hole activities i've grown accustomed to.
it's odd to think, but there's a battle going on in my head about what today really means. on one hand, it's very depressing to me that i don't have enough friends or enough knowledge of the area to go out and have a good time. and i've become an old fart, since i no longer care to go out till even 11pm on a weeknight, knowing i'll have to be up early for work. and it's equally saddening to think back to the days when my birthday was such a blast and the stark contrast in which they stand compared to today.
on the other hand, birthdays are just like any other day. or so i tell myself. today is monday. tomorrow is tuesday. same thing with a different spelling. i got up, went to work, came home. tomorrow i'll get up, go to work, and come home. really the only difference is that tomorrow i won't have anyone wishing me a happy anniversary of my birth, which i'm totally fine with.
what irks me is that the transformation from day of drunken fun and irresponsibility to day of regularity and mundane tasks came and went without so much as a hint that it was coming. at what point does your birthday become just another day? is there a standard number of years on earth where when you reach it you just stop caring?
it could be that i'll celebrate this weekend with some friends and have the time then i thought i'd have tonight. or, it could be that i won't do anything at all but sit back and reflect on how shitty the past 4 months have been and how i'm just grateful to even have another chance to celebrate the fact that i'm alive. for the past 26 years, 364 days of my life, i never cared, never even thought of expressing gratitude on a day supposedly dedicated to receiving attention.
today is different. i received a card each from my parents and from my grandmother. i've never been one to read the cards, but rather rip open the envelope and see how much money i got. today i read them. and then i broke down in tears. this birthday, though not nearly as entertaining as the others, is certainly more memorable. i guess this is growing up.
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