So, happy birthday to me. 46 years young. Today the feeling is this: whoopee fucking doodah. Seriously. I can only spit out some Rhymes from Gangster’s Paradise to express my feelings. Else, I might choke on my lack of cheers.
“As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death”
I’m in the valley of the shadow of death. Just walking through like any normal Tuesday. The weather is gray as per usual and the citizens of grey street will do anything to fill it in with colors. Except they all flow together and it just breaks all of our hearts. Because the color is grey. Unlike the Goddamn pen, which was indeed blue after all. Despite everyone else trying to piss down our backs and convince us it was black. Fuck those people.
Throw me a bone on any given Sunday. Just another Manic Monday – Wish it were a fun day. Those days seem to be gone now. I have every single reason to be Happy and yet Happiness is just a farce that some poor schlep wrote on a Hallmark card once upon a time because it made them feel good.
I can’t seem to cooperate and lean into the celebration. I just can’t. It all looks sucky. I so desperately want to say yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus. I saw him last night and he gave mom the most passionate kiss. It wasn’t actually cheating. It was Daddy in a Santa Suit. But I can’t. Santa Claus no longer exists and I am not Virginia.
Happy Birthday to me. I think this might be what depression looks like.
