Yes. Undeniably, it is near.
Some are happy. Honestly, right now, I’m not.
I call it the pre-birthday syndrome.
I’m a lady nearing his mid-30’s. Please understand that if women or generally sensitive on the 3 numbers: waistline, weight and age… at this point, birthday celebrants are a little extra more sensitive. (Extreme and multiple adjective or adverb used there is intended)
Yes, I know. Birthdays are supposed to be happy and be celebrated. It’s sort of a survival of a year and hoping for another year of goodness ahead. See. I know that. It’s just that, as one gets older celebrations seemed not quite festives. It’s like Christmas I guess.
I know. I’m being pessimistic here. A nega. All black aura around me. Could you blame me? It’s my birthday anyway. What I lately appreciate is some solitude. Perhaps an escape somewhere out there. No stupid people. No naggers. No demands. Just peace and quiet. But I guess that peace I’m looking for once bestowed will be forever. Because that’s way down 6 feet under.
Oh. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no suicidal. That hurts. Me not the type to inflict self-pain or torture. Excuse me. That I assure you.
Sigh. This is just a phase. Next week I think (hopefully) I’ll be fine. Not sure if I’d be normal but fine for sure. Life is what we make it, isn’t it?