birthdays suck, especially when they’re mine (g2)

I don’t really celebrate birthdays. I have been like this since about the age of ten. I don’t remember what the hell I was doing when I turned 21, I really cannot recall 30 and the decade after was a blur. The last birthday I tried to give any meaning to was the month I spent in Europe in honor of the last year of my -teens. For the most part, birthdays have just become markers of time that remind me of all the things I didn’t accomplish.

I’m embarking on yet another beginning to a new decade and it was probably one of my top ten shittiest days this year.

First, I have a boss who has a wife who is completely incompetent but is attempting to run a business on ebay. When this bores her, its left to me to finish her undone bullshit. I didn’t have the tools for what they wanted me to do, so I sent it to the department in our company that does that… officially… as like their sole job. They fucked it up. I get lectured… repeatedly. One of my superiors intervened and pointed out to them what a giant dick they were being, which they even admitted. But of course, not to me.

However, one of my co-workers actually made me an entire cake. Lemon pound cake with a glaze…be still my taste buds… so it was my happy thought.

I also got one of those epic cards from BFH, the kind that you keep. The one I got from them on my 21st birthday is the only thing I remember about my 21st birthday. When you get a birthday card with some scary nuns on the front, you know it’s a keeper. This was one of those, I’d read it seven times before noon just to remind myself that I could smile.

Spawn was in a raging shit mood as well. They had to wear their dress clothes to school and with my full attention on them, we got them to school just barely on time. The only photos I have of the occasion are all riddled with glares.

I had signed us up for a food delivery service. I had always wanted to try it but it had always been out of my means. I hate shopping. I know what I like, but putting them together in something nutritious and good has evaded me since becoming a parent, especially with a kid who eats a fraction of what I will, variety-wise.

This one had really good ratings and was about the cost of a minor grocery trip. It would run about $10 a meal, but considering how much we grab and go, that was a steal. Fresh food at our door and instructions and I didn’t have to think about what we were having for almost half of every week. Yay!

Our first shipment was to arrive on my birthday and Spawn was excited about the prospect of cooking.

That is of course, until the day it arrived. I have no clue what Spawn was expecting but it apparently didn’t fall too far outside “fried chicken and mac & cheese.” I thought the choices were pretty tame and sounded wonderful. Of course, this just increased Spawn’s irritation.

So here we had the makings of a wonderful meal, a gorgeous cake and I’m watching as Spawn is being an asshole through all of it.

I think I snapped.

I just completely blew, I channeled my mother’s Scot-Irish ginger to a fine degree. I asked what they had expected? I had paid to have real food delivered, not a bunch of fried garbage, considering I’d like to not die and all. But if that was the goal, there were better ways to go about it.

I went off about how maturity and freedom had an equally difficult facet of responsibility, chore and general suckiness, this only got worse the older you got and the more freedoms you had. I declared that Spawn could either choose to be treated maturely, and own the responsibility that comes with that, or have the freedoms of an infant, which meant none.

However, at this point in time, I would love to move out all by myself, just so I could walk through my own home without being accosted or having to trip over a dozen things that didn’t belong to me.

Then I proceeded to redecorate.

I basically slid anything on a surface, off. I slung anything I could get my hands on across the room. I was even calm in my demeanor with a quiet “Isn’t this what you were going for?” and I tossed one thing after another wherever and however I could.

I’ve never snapped quite this bad, but this has been an ongoing issue with Spawn and I the last several months and we never seem to quite get it fixed. I was on a rampage to break it completely.

I felt like my birthday had been shit on.

I felt like I was being shit on.

I was doing some shitting of my own for a change.

I went to bed.

And for a fucking change, Spawn cleaned.

Its wasn’t epic, it wasn’t impressive. But its the most I’ve seen the little shit do in months.

My birthday dinner was toast and beer.

Happy Birthday to me.

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  1. #1 by Raymond on May 30, 2015 - 5:39 am

    Happy birthday to you. I begin to dislike birthday celebration too lately. I agree on that it’s like a reminder for what I should have accomplished in the past.

    • #2 by g2 on May 31, 2015 - 2:09 pm

      It’s terrible isn’t it? Logically, I know dwelling on the past is counter-intuitive and actually makes progressing slower, but damn… I think sometimes you just have to wallow in it before you can move on and pick up the pace.

      • #3 by Raymond on May 31, 2015 - 2:17 pm

        Yeah, right. It’s not easy to get out of that state I feel it too sometimes however I just keep reminding myself that past is always just a past. So getting out of the current condition is the key for me to keep getting sane.

        • #4 by idioglossiablog on May 31, 2015 - 3:59 pm

          I agree if you face the bad feeling it makes it easier to let it go. G-uno

      • #5 by idioglossiablog on May 31, 2015 - 3:57 pm

        I agree sometimes a good wallowing let’s me clear the bad so I can move forward 😉 G-uno

  2. #6 by D. Parker on May 30, 2015 - 10:56 am

    Hope this birthday is good to you. 🙂

  3. #7 by idioglossiablog on May 30, 2015 - 3:21 pm

    Sorry g2 all I can say is that we are on a roll. oxoxo G-uno

  1. spawn would be an awesome cook… if they would only read the recipe, completely (g2) | idioglossia: the blog

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