Written 8 months later
There is a reason why this post took so long to write.
Because it was the worst birthday ever.
Basically, it was not meant to be my birthday. I decided to try and deny it. To ignore the fact that I was 30. Because no one actually knew. At all. No one around here. Not even my partner.
Because down here I have my own life, defined my own way. No one actually knows anything. Except two people, and for them I just played along.
But something went wrong…
At the office a parcel arrived from my mum, which had happy birthday on the outside. Which, frankly, was a bit stupid, given the propensity of things to “go missing” in the post.
Then it all went tits up. Arriving was one of those who knew my birthday. In front of everyone. Well, the key people. Including my partner.
I wanted to keep the real date a secret because my birthday has been shit for years. I had actually decided I want a different date to be my official birthday celebration, and had been telling people that for about a year to try to make it happen.
All at once my careful plan lied in ruins, because my parents sent a parcel to the office rather than my home for some reason…
Major fuckup then. And I felt somewhat distressed by the whole thing, just because I looked so foolish and so weird for choosing to ignore my birthday in favour of some other date. And no other reason than I just hate my July birthday, and have always liked the idea of my new preferred date in the calendar.
For probably the first time in ages I left work early. I looked really stupid, and I still don’t feel like I’ve lived it down in front of my colleagues. We don’t ever mention birthdays any more; they’ve become a rather touchy subject…
It, however, proved a very big distraction for forgetting just how ancient I’ve become. Fuck that shit.