Birthday Blues

Depressing times. Tomorrow is my 29th birthday. The last time I will ever in my life have a birthday and still be young. I’m so sad when I think about it. I don’t want to lose my youth. Being young is the only thing that makes it ok that I haven’t done the things I wanted to do. Being young is part of who I am. Sob.

I don’t think I’ll be doing anything special tomorrow. The Man is going to touch practice as usual, and I’m going to ballet. The Man has taken today off touch so that we can do something birthday-ish, but I’m not very excited, seeing as how all we’re going to do is see a movie he’s forgotten to ask me if I want to see. And I don’t want to see it. It’s the new ‘Elizabeth’ – ‘Elizabeth I II’ or something like that. For God’s sake, what’s with all this trilogy crap? It’s a costume drama not a sci-fi thriller. I know nothing about this film but I assume it will be about three hours of Cate Blanchett grimacing and straining worthily against tight corsets, big music that critics describe as 'sweeping', and significant historical stuff. A bloody educational film which the Man will go into raptures about afterwards, and give him an excuse to needle me about the British Empire, as if I care. Then he'll go on about how he must read up on that period of history because it's so interesting. I feel like I've lived the whole evening already! I don’t have the heart to say I don’t want to go. Sometimes I feel like I’m always raining on his parade. But that’s a woman’s job, isn’t it?

Of course, it could just be a front for a big birthday surprise! I'll get there expecting to see a hideously long, self-righteous film where you Learn Stuff, and instead he'll be like, 'surprise!'. A nice dinner, and then a funny movie where you don’t have to think, and then ice cream and cake, and lots of presents!

Birthdays just aren’t what they used to be.

Every birthday I’ve had for the past few years, I’ve told myself I’m mourning my lost time, but at the same time, it hasn’t felt real. It’s feeling realer now. Twenty nine! Let my last year of youth begin.

That’s enough feeling sorry for myself. I want to leave something for my turning 30 post!