Sob Story

I seem to forget that my birthday, July 28th, may be God’s favorite day, but it also may be my least favorite day. I mean, first off, I know, and this is not an exaggeration, about eleven people who share the beloved anniversary with me of being expelled from our mother's uteruses. The Special Day ain't so special when everyone and their mother toe was born on July 28th. And even worse, I always cry on my birthday, always. Last year the entire day was spent at a funeral, and this year – this year it was without any deaths or wearage of black. But still, I cried. A lot. The morning was spent feeding the ducks with the Cadester, and then Bran came home early from work around 11:30 to celebrate with me. My sissy’s threw what we call a Secret Sister Birthday Lunch, though I’m not entirely sure why, seeing as it’s never a secret – like, ever. But it was held at the park, complete with birthday signs and balloons, and I appreciated it very much. My dad got me the most amazing bouquet of flowers, so many of you wished me a happy birthday, there was cake and ice cream in abundance…you know, the whole works...so what I’m really trying to say here is that there is no conceivable reason that I should have cried (nay, sobbed) on my birthday. But I did. Oh, I did.

Frankly, I suppose I’m glad it’s over. PLUS I’m now in my mid-twenties. That kind of makes me feel weird.

So, the crying jag I seem to be in is oh so annoyingly carrying over to today. Crying at work is the most aggravating thing, really. Bothersome tears. Go away, I say! (But when has my mind and crazy chemically imbalanced brain and hormones ever listened to a diz-amn thing I say?)

So today, I suppose I need to remember these very vital facts

• This day, just like every other before it, will pass. Hurry, sun! Set! Go to bed so that I can, too.
• Crying at work shouldn't be something one would actually get fired for. I may need to look at the Policies and Procedures on this one, but I think I'm still on un-firable ground, here.
• I'm 37.497% sure you can't die from a panic attack.
• Tomorrow I get to see Orville Redenbacher my psychiatrist, so just one day left to go before he can prescribe me some magical pills that just might make my tears go away.
• They say crying actually makes you feel better. I'm still waiting, but whatever.
• It could always be worse. I think.

Well folks, thanks for reading my sob story. I think I'm blatantly disregarding the Birthday Gods for crying on my uterus expellage day, but whatever. Sorry bros, methinks I have no control over my tears. I mean, my hell. I'd stop if I could.