I feel depressed. Listless, if you will. And when I get into these sort of moods I usually end up restless and, in turn, do something incredibly stupid.
My birthday is Thursday. I will be turning 25 years old. And on some level I don’t care. It’s just another day. I’ll get up, go to work, come home, go to kung fu, come home again and go to bed.
I’d like to think my significant other will have some sort of surprise for me. He won’t. I already know this. He likes to think he’s mysterious, intriguing, and unpredictable, but he’s not. The reason I know he won’t is because he already made a comment about going out drinking after kung-fu. I was invited if I wanted to come along. But I was not at the forethought of this plan to consume alcohol.
And I admit, I did the girl thing. I said it was okay to go out with his friends when deep down it’s really not okay. I’ll get over it. And part of me is hoping by writing this down it’ll be like some sort of self-defeating prophecy and I’ll get a nice surprise on Thursday.
However, I’m not holding my breath.
For his Birthday, he was super bummed because one of his friends who had planned to visit canceled at the last minute. Aside from having cleaned the house top to bottom for his friend I hadn’t done much else in way of preparation for his birthday, so the news irked me. But then my thoughts went to him and what I could do at the last minute for him. I stopped by a friend’s house, gave them money to pick up a cookie cake for him that said Happy Birthday. Made plans with some of our local friends for dinner and had them come over with the cake and ice cream as a surprise just before we went to dinner.
It wasn’t much. And I don’t really expect much in return… I guess I just expect something, you know? A hug, a kiss, a card, a flower, something to show me that at a certain point he actually thought of me.
And I don’t want this journal to become a bitchfest about how horrible my life is, because it isn’t. I’m just, like I said at the beginning, a little depressed.