Birthday Bash

 Only a few days left to get back down to my birthweight. My birthday's sneaking up on me like an old brownie. I'm not sure if I still want it, but it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Thirty. Thirty brownies, each less fresh than the one before. Maybe I don't want a brownie. Can't I just stay in bed all day, slicing some relaxing cheese? Nobody has to bake anything, just buy me a block and steer clear. 

 It won't be long now, I will have completely outlasted all possibility of dying young. I'm a survivor. A tragically short ending didn't happen, and it won't, it can't. That time has passed, and past time is gone, and time is always passing, thirty years worth now. Thirty years less than how much there is. You do the rest of the math. 

 Don't get me wrong, I look fantastic. I wait to be congratulated for my age. Alas, a reward for nothing, that's something, and that something is mine just by chance. Free! Free social rewards! Thank you, I know. Now I'm older than ever. Prepare to be amazed. 

 I want the kind of party where I do the same thing I always do, and invite everybody who's already here. I want to get a few things for the house, and maybe some ointment. I want to be a ballerina from scratch. Magical powers and marble sized kittens. Argyle towers of sparkling dishes. Wishes, and wishes that grant me more wishes... 

 I want the world, but that's way too much work. I want to be lazy forever. Lazy, but yet still somehow active and full of life. I dream of jumping-jacks. I labor pettily. I never made anything of myself, and nothing was made of me. Life is about living, not being, says every story about life. So far, so good. 

 I might have murdered someone when I was baby. I was much smarter then, but I didn't know the difference between right and wrong. Of course nobody would suspect me, and I didn't yet have the skills to discuss it. When I started speaking fluently, I was more into the business of not being guilty. Next thing you know, I'm thirty. Life progressively loses it's mysteries, but there's more than a lifelong supply of those. 

 I don't believe in fairies. If only I were young again, but that world is old and gone. I used to think being eight was impressive, but look at me now. I'm old enough to be my mother. I feel nine. I never believed in fairies. I like them. 

 I don't like mortality. There's a limited amount of me, and one day I'll run out. It keeps the world turning, but I don't like it. 

 What am I talking about? There's going to be cake. Letting people eat cake used to be a bad thing. Now it's conveniently boxed, waiting for water and somebody's birthday. One day cake will only be available in pill form. Then I'll be sorry. I need to enjoy it for what it is now, while I still have my teeth. Let's see that smile! 

 Let's love everything we have no choice but to accept. The name of the game is Peek-a-Poop, and you're not going to want to like it. Embrace the growing flaws of realty with perfect grace. Get out of bed. Wear a cone hat. Your invitation's in the mail. 

 I'm too excited to wait!