For those expecting to read about my escapist adventures on my birthday, the sexual marathon with a gorgeous brunette, or about the shedding of an old half-century and preparing for a new one – sorry. Nothing happened of any signifigance or consequence to make the day remotely special. No day trips to Boston or a neverending pile of birthday cards. I entered the next fifty years in a very ordinary, and somewhat disheartning manner.
To start, I had to work. There is nothing worse than having to work on your birthday, with the exception of having to get up at Oh-dark-hundred to go to work on your birthday. A birthday indicates you became a part of this world, a unique life force making a contribution to this world. It’s a special, freakin’ day! You should be able to shout out from on high, “Today is MY birthday!!” Ideally, birthdays mean you get to lounge in bed, have your breakfast brought to you, and spend the morning reading the paper. In a perfect world, perhaps, but not in my world. After work I planned to visit my parents and enjoy my brithday dinner of meatloaf, mashed tatties, and a German chocolate cake with coconut frosting. It was my intent to ask my son to come with me, knowing that my daughter was playing her reindeer combat games (another time). When I called the house and no one answered, I then called my Ex- and got her voicemail. I just wanted to know what the kids plans were, my mesage stated, and wanted to know if our son would come with me to his grandparents’ house. I hung up and waited for a response.
The Ex- did call – not the house phone but my cellphone, and left a voicemail for me. She sounded somewhat embarrassed as if she failed to remind the kids that it was my birthday. Neither my son or daughter left a message of birthday greetings on my machine, and that made me feel uneasy. Was I to be left alone on my special day? I didn’t like that possibility. I could feel the knot grow in my belly. This was not how I expected to feel on my 50th birthday.
to be continued…….