An unrequited day - or is it?
Today is, as several people have reminded me, the anniversary of my birth. "Happy Birthday," they write or say, and I appropriately respond, "thank you so much. Sweet of you to remember."
But what I'm really thinking is, "what the f@$* business is it of yours? And why would anyone want that dubious (at best) anniversary remembered?
Oh sure, it's nice to think "well, I've lasted another year above ground. Hooray for me." But then there's those aches and pains that accompany aging; those loose, rattling teeth, the hair loss, the gray pallor that seems to creep ever-wider across one's face.
I shan't go further bemoaning the fact of the matter, except to say, who cares? Who really gives a flying s@*% about someone's birthday? And why? What's the point?
Seems like it's another sham excuse to line the pockets of retailers, not to mention bakers, and other shrewd business enterprises.
Nonetheless, to all who took a moment of time to wish me a happy birthday, I sincerely and humbly say, "thank you, very much!"
Hypocritical of me, I know, but that's too bad. I'm not put off by the human capacity for sentiment. I'm put off by the baffling traditions that sometimes create discomfort for those of us who's age is a siren song that portends death's inexorable approach.
So please forgive the rambling, disjointed nature of this tome. I intended to write something pithy and humorous and, sadly, failed miserably on both counts.
But it didn't take much time, so there's that.
Stay warm. Be happy.
And if today was your special anniversary; a recollection of the moment you drew your first breath and began your journey toward humanhood, then by all means - happy birthday to you, too!