|Every year, I take a birthday photo. Here's to you, 33.|
Then I came home, had leftovers, made muffins for a co-worker, and watched repeats of Will & Grace.
It was a less-than-eventful day.
Every year, I go through the same thing: I get excited for my birthday, because I LOVE to celebrate people's birthdays. I always find the perfect card, a great gift, bake them something special. Because I do so much for other people on their birthdays, every year I expect that THIS will be the year where I have it reciprocated. No such luck. Of course, my friends send me birthday texts...I appreciate the thought, but there's nothing like getting a card in the mail which shows that the person actually had to think of your upcoming birthday in enough time to send a piece of delightfully old-fashioned snail mail. There are always friends that I think I'm closer to than I really am...no card, no nothing. So weird to me.
I realize I probably sound like a bitter, whiny bitch right now, and I don't really care. I feel like I do a lot for others year-round, and when my birthday comes, I'm left just like this year—at home, by myself, doing something for someone else. Guess I'll never learn.