Birthday
I'm 43 years old today.
It's the first time in my life that I feel nothing about my birthday. Usually I'm happy, want to celebrate -- either alone or with others. This year, it's hard to care. The only thing I feel is a sense of sadness at my own sense of apathy.
Maybe there have been just too many overwhelming passages in my life during the last year or so for this one-of-many-natal-days to have much significance in the larger scheme of things.
Maybe it's because I haven't really felt like celebrating holidays since uncrowned_king's death.
Yesterday I tried to remember how I celebrated last year. I could remember Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day. . . . but I had to look up my birthday on LJ. Last year, we had a huge rainstorm. I left work early and then spent the evening waterproofing my basement as water rose out of the drain. I was tromping around the backyard in my hiking boots and jacket, feeling strong and competent, taking on the storm and doing well. _storyteller_ came over, helped me get the pump working, and took the lead in securing a plastic tarp over the lower part of my door in case the power went out and the pump stopped working. We made fajitas for dinner. The next day my office was closed due to lack of power, and the day after that was the infamous waiting-outside-the-wrong-door-at-6am-to-try-to-buy-a-Wii adventure (also with _storyteller_), followed by watching the LOTR trilogy at my parents house on their widescreen HD TV, and enjoying a prime rib dinner cooked by my parents.
I hate feeling like uncrowned_king's death -- and my loss of both him and _storyteller_ as partners -- has left me with a What's-the-Point? feeling about celebrations. All the rest of my life I've been able to happily celebrate anything, at the drop of a hat, whether I had a partner or not.
I want to enjoy today.
It feels like just another day.
I don't want it to be like that.
I hate feeling like there's a huge void in my life, but I do.
There's a void, and it swallows up all kinds of possibilities for joy.
Not all of them, but enough to leave me aching when I could be laughing.
It's the first time in my life that I feel nothing about my birthday. Usually I'm happy, want to celebrate -- either alone or with others. This year, it's hard to care. The only thing I feel is a sense of sadness at my own sense of apathy.
Maybe there have been just too many overwhelming passages in my life during the last year or so for this one-of-many-natal-days to have much significance in the larger scheme of things.
Maybe it's because I haven't really felt like celebrating holidays since uncrowned_king's death.
Yesterday I tried to remember how I celebrated last year. I could remember Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day. . . . but I had to look up my birthday on LJ. Last year, we had a huge rainstorm. I left work early and then spent the evening waterproofing my basement as water rose out of the drain. I was tromping around the backyard in my hiking boots and jacket, feeling strong and competent, taking on the storm and doing well. _storyteller_ came over, helped me get the pump working, and took the lead in securing a plastic tarp over the lower part of my door in case the power went out and the pump stopped working. We made fajitas for dinner. The next day my office was closed due to lack of power, and the day after that was the infamous waiting-outside-the-wrong-door-at-6am-to-try-to-buy-a-Wii adventure (also with _storyteller_), followed by watching the LOTR trilogy at my parents house on their widescreen HD TV, and enjoying a prime rib dinner cooked by my parents.
I hate feeling like uncrowned_king's death -- and my loss of both him and _storyteller_ as partners -- has left me with a What's-the-Point? feeling about celebrations. All the rest of my life I've been able to happily celebrate anything, at the drop of a hat, whether I had a partner or not.
I want to enjoy today.
It feels like just another day.
I don't want it to be like that.
I hate feeling like there's a huge void in my life, but I do.
There's a void, and it swallows up all kinds of possibilities for joy.
Not all of them, but enough to leave me aching when I could be laughing.