B: MARCH 12, 1973
That's a creepy title. Thus, I enjoy it. It's also simple, to the point. Today IS my birthday. I have somehow made it to 33 years of age. 33. 33. 33. Say it with me. THIRTY-THREE. It wasn't the day I expected. Not a BAD day. Nothing awful happened. But not MUCH happened, period. Well, it became MELANCHOLY is what happened. Try as I might to fight it, I always seem to succumb to my Irishness. I try SOOOOO hard to "have a nice day"...not to get mad, not to let anything bother MY day. Often fails. Didn't help that today was dismal...gray, occasional light rain, and now, pea soup fog. At least it was warm...well, mild. One of my warmer birthdays. I stood in the yard at dusk with a Yeungling, under a full moon(!) and toasted myself. A fine moment. It actually had cleared up by then...a decent sunset. I got up so late, though...2:18pm...ha! Well, I DID go to bed at 7am!!?! I kept waiting for the roomie to hopefully leave before I got up...wanted breakfast in peace. And I got it...turns out he went out the entire time I thought he was in the living room. Tense for nothing. I checked email, read the paper, and had breakfast...before getting ready for the trip to the parents'. Naturally, the second I wanted to leave, the landlords and their daughters' families decided to come and go in the hallway...thus delaying my departure, as I had no interest in forced exchanges. Am I odd that way, too? I finally got to the parents' just before 6:30pm. And then the mood REALLY kicked in.
I don't know what it is about being at my parents' house. I very often get moody there. Listen, I was pleasant throughout. Didn't let my mood show. Mom cooked a great beef strogenoff (I KNOW that's spelled wrong, but don't care right now) with noodles and carrots thing...and salad, bread, my beer. Irish soda bread that I took home...mmmmm. My bro in a pleasant mood. Dad...well, dad was dad. But they were all wonderful...not their fault I was mulling my life over. Sure, dad rushed things as always, and proceeded to fold laundry at the table once he was done eating. His attitude can be wearying, but what can you do? Once The Dinner was over, it was time for the Gift Opening part of the evening. This was brief. Money, a ShopRite card, a set of sheets, a shirt and sweater. The sheets and clothes will likely be returned. Mom INSISTS on "something to open," even though I repeatedly tell her I am impossible to buy for. Gave mom my camera to record my staged shots. Dad sat slumped in the chair, about as unenthused as one could be. Lastly, the REAL fun...birthday cake! CARVEL ice cream cake, more to the point. Sweet Jesus, I have this cake EVERY year. So the assembly line production of the evening continued as candles were lit while I urinated for the 4th time, and soon...the most PATHETIC singing of HAPPY BIRTHDAY known to man. Mom actually trying to sing it right, dad rushing through it, brother more so "singing" in spoken-word form, NONE of them in sync. I was singing, too. Then, the audience is hushed as I lean in to make a wish...but I laugh, pull back...lean in again, instruct mom on when to take another staged picture, then finally BLOW those fuckers (the candles, that is) out, all in one long blow. I then cut my cake. Ate it. Had another piece. Ate it. Cleaned up. Fetched my laundry in the dryer. Folded it while watching SOPRANOS premiere. Packed up my 27 things, kiss/hug goodbye to all, ran in for milk at SR, brought shit in apt, parked car...took 11:30pm super relaxing stroll to Dunkin Donuts for what I THINK was some marshmallow-flavored latte. It was good. The shockingly easy parking space and latte were the PERFECT endings to the day. I began to feel less depressed once I got home. WHY is that?!?!
It's a one day thing, this mood. Always is. But I AM super motivated by the passage of time. I feel it like never before. Just before I left my parents', I sat for a few minutes staring at my baby pictures. STARING at them. There I was, a newborn in the Nixon era. A smiling baby so full of hope and promise. I have GOT to jumpstart fulfilling that promise. Jesus fucking Christ! It's not easy having this mind of mine. Every single day is a choice...get depressed or keep on keeping on. SOMEHOW I generally maintain a pretty positive outlook. Something to do with my basic belief that i'm a fucking WINNER, irrational life choices aside. I'm forever aware, though, how precarious that tightrope is between the two states of mind. I desperately want this year of my life to be a POSITIVE turning point. I think that smiling baby of 1973 -- and his mom and dad -- deserve better.
I don't know what it is about being at my parents' house. I very often get moody there. Listen, I was pleasant throughout. Didn't let my mood show. Mom cooked a great beef strogenoff (I KNOW that's spelled wrong, but don't care right now) with noodles and carrots thing...and salad, bread, my beer. Irish soda bread that I took home...mmmmm. My bro in a pleasant mood. Dad...well, dad was dad. But they were all wonderful...not their fault I was mulling my life over. Sure, dad rushed things as always, and proceeded to fold laundry at the table once he was done eating. His attitude can be wearying, but what can you do? Once The Dinner was over, it was time for the Gift Opening part of the evening. This was brief. Money, a ShopRite card, a set of sheets, a shirt and sweater. The sheets and clothes will likely be returned. Mom INSISTS on "something to open," even though I repeatedly tell her I am impossible to buy for. Gave mom my camera to record my staged shots. Dad sat slumped in the chair, about as unenthused as one could be. Lastly, the REAL fun...birthday cake! CARVEL ice cream cake, more to the point. Sweet Jesus, I have this cake EVERY year. So the assembly line production of the evening continued as candles were lit while I urinated for the 4th time, and soon...the most PATHETIC singing of HAPPY BIRTHDAY known to man. Mom actually trying to sing it right, dad rushing through it, brother more so "singing" in spoken-word form, NONE of them in sync. I was singing, too. Then, the audience is hushed as I lean in to make a wish...but I laugh, pull back...lean in again, instruct mom on when to take another staged picture, then finally BLOW those fuckers (the candles, that is) out, all in one long blow. I then cut my cake. Ate it. Had another piece. Ate it. Cleaned up. Fetched my laundry in the dryer. Folded it while watching SOPRANOS premiere. Packed up my 27 things, kiss/hug goodbye to all, ran in for milk at SR, brought shit in apt, parked car...took 11:30pm super relaxing stroll to Dunkin Donuts for what I THINK was some marshmallow-flavored latte. It was good. The shockingly easy parking space and latte were the PERFECT endings to the day. I began to feel less depressed once I got home. WHY is that?!?!
It's a one day thing, this mood. Always is. But I AM super motivated by the passage of time. I feel it like never before. Just before I left my parents', I sat for a few minutes staring at my baby pictures. STARING at them. There I was, a newborn in the Nixon era. A smiling baby so full of hope and promise. I have GOT to jumpstart fulfilling that promise. Jesus fucking Christ! It's not easy having this mind of mine. Every single day is a choice...get depressed or keep on keeping on. SOMEHOW I generally maintain a pretty positive outlook. Something to do with my basic belief that i'm a fucking WINNER, irrational life choices aside. I'm forever aware, though, how precarious that tightrope is between the two states of mind. I desperately want this year of my life to be a POSITIVE turning point. I think that smiling baby of 1973 -- and his mom and dad -- deserve better.
posted by Gregoire at 10:55 PM
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