Birthday Cards for the Enthusiasm-Challenged

Inspired by my recent natal event, I listed a few new birthday cards at my Etsy shop.  Finally, a proper salutation for the celebration-impaired.

hand made cards, collage arthand made cards, collage art

Hallmark Doesn’t Make a Card for This

hand made card, collage artBirthdays kinda suck.

It’s not the part about getting older.  That’s actually a triumph for me—making it through another year.  No, it’s all those demands to be happy, and to celebrate, and to have a great day.  I can’t take the pressure, man.  The revolving mixed state I’ve been in the last couple of days brought lots of presents.  Happy wasn’t one of them.  Nor was the capacity to celebrate more than climbing into bed.  And telling me to smile only makes me want to punch something.

Perhaps I’m a bit sensitive about that last point.  Ever since I was a wee bipolar lass, people have told me to “snap out of it,” or “put on a happy face,” or my favorite “what have you got to be sad about?”  So now that I’m a heavyweight in the Bipolar Bad-Ass division, I don’t tolerate folks telling me how to feel.  I may not actually whack them, but I do get deathly quiet.  Ooo!  Snap!

Back to this birthday business.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the lovely cards and presents.  I am relieved that people remember who I am and that I was born.  It’s just that, birthday or not, I still have to figure out how to get through the day without

  • Eating the other pie I bought at Perkins last night
  • Driving hard and fast until the gas runs out in my dad’s truck
  • Putting my nightie back on and spending the day watching the ceiling fan turn

I have a couple of ideas.  I could try to get my hair cut.  I cancelled my last appointment when I was sick, and twice this week someone asked me if I qualified for their Senior Discount.  Hmm.  I know I’m 55 now, and could technically be someone’s grandma, but if that’s the case, then I’d like to look like a hip grandma.

I could try to get an appointment with Michele.  Nothing says celebrate like a session with your therapist!

What I’ll probably do is drive to Starbucks thirty miles away, get a Soy Chai, and spew all the obscenities and self-pity spared you here into my journal.  My Scottish friend, Evelyn, taught me a new epithet I’m dying to use—FEK OFF!

In fact, here’s what I want for my birthday—Everyone send me your best swear, your rudest, over-the-top expletive.  If I have to be riding this roller coaster today, I can at least have good stuff to shout at passersby.  And all those people who keep telling me to smile.

Now that’s a gift that keeps on giving.

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