Continuing with the theme of weird things about me that could possibly point to some psychological conditions – I hate birthdays. Rest assured that it’s not my birthday. I wanted to write this on my birthday, but instead I waited some amount of time so that no one would know when it is.
Yeah, that’s right. I don’t tell people when my birthday is. My family knows, since they were intimately involved in the event we’re supposed to celebrate, but very few of my friends know. Kristen bribed me by making me a really cool clay rock for my fish tank, so I told her. The only two friends who called were Nicole and Nick, both of which I would have thought would never call. I’ve seen Nicole once in the past two years, and Nick has been in Pennsylvania for quite some time.
I don’t know exactly what it is about birthdays. I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. I hate getting birthday presents (along with Christmas presents), and I hate it when people wish me a happy birthday. All these family members and Nick and Nicole called, and I ignored all of their calls. I didn’t call them back either.
What’s really peculiar is that I think that making a big deal out of me is a fantastic idea. If anyone wants to call me up today and tell me how glad they are that I’m alive, I fully support that. I would love to have that conversation with you. But if you call on my birthday I will probably ignore the call.
Part of it is the presents. The thought that somebody went out and bought me something out of obligation really kills me. I hate buying presents like that. If someone sees something that is great for me and buys it and gives it to me randomly, I am overjoyed. JLaix gave me a cool lighter from Spain and that made me happy. Acually, my friends and I give each other things pretty often and it’s a good thing. I just hate that obligation. I also never get people presents on their birthday because I feel like the whole transaction is insulting to everyone.
I’ve finally convinced everyone not to get me Christmas presents, so it’s now my favorite holiday. I love going to Boston and visiting my whole family and spending time with them. I even like the Yankee swap because it’s a game. But back when they used to get me presents I would sometimes sneak away to go upstairs and cry. I just felt awful that people bought me things.
Even this most recent birthday, I was depressed. I never get depressed. I moped around the house and didn’t do anything. At night I took a long walk around my neighborhood because that usually cheers me up. I couldn’t wait to go to sleep and have a new day.
It’s not that I don’t want to get older either. I’m 25 now, which means that I get to rent cars at a reasonable price. I don’t know how exciting that is or isn’t to everyone else, but I’m very excited about the whole thing.
Anyway, that’s enough of this rant. Hayden heard it all on the phone and suggested I write about it, which I thought was a good idea. The point is that if you know my birthday, then please act like you don’t when it comes around. If you don’t know, don’t try to find out. If you want to buy me a present, go for it, but don’t give me a birthday present. If you throw me a surprise party within two weeks of my birthday I will wrassle your livestock.