When I think about my birthday, I sweat. I perspire easily. I get nervous a lot. I'm doing it right now. It's not a big deal. My birthday's a big deal, but getting nervous, not so much. Shit happens. I'd have rather have an anxiety problem than a shit problem.
It's not a problem. I've been this way as far back as I can remember. I know no other way to live. When I was very young, I assumed that everyone else felt the same way. Anxiety is a feeling, and everyone has all the feelings. I was a sensitive kid. I cried more easily than my siblings, and that's normal for the youngest child, so I came to think of my anxiety in the same way. And that pretty much concludes that story.
I'm turning thirty two! It gives me a lot to think about. Like, the kind of person I've become, and what I'm going to wear. I dress flashily. Not because of my unusual accessories, but because when I shop for clothes I can't help but want what catches my eye, which is usually along the lines of a polka dot skirt. It's better that way. When I wear pants, and have to cover my entire body, I can come off as a frightened, mentally ill person. But, in a cute skirt and stockings, I appear more like a character. People don't wonder whether or not to make eye contact, and I can exchange smiles with everyone I pass.
I used to dress normal. I went through a goth phase that was all about baggy pants and mime makeup. This was before clown rapping, when face painting was still cool. I wore real-girl makeup sometimes, but it made less of a statement. Then, for whatever reason, when I was about twenty, I would look in the mirror before and after makeup, and no matter how I applied it, from then on out, the after was less attractive. Now all I do is shower. That's trouble enough at my age.
I can't believe it's June already! Time flies, and babies cry. I made that up just now. I write stuff sometimes. I prefer fiction and rhyming, but to my disappointment, I'm talking about myself. I'm not a baby, you're a baby. Being a baby was hard, I'm glad it's over with.
I don't keep a diary because I'm healthier without it, and nobody would read it anyway. Years and years ago, when I did keep a diary, I was super messed up in the head. All it did was promote suicide. It's tough to be a teen. I've experienced an emotional issue or two as an adult as well, but I get a little better at it each time. It's not a problem. I've never received help for it. There's nothing amazing about being able to handle my own feewings, or so I thought. Things are different now, everybody's a hero.
I can help an old lady with her bags without telling anyone about it. It's called discipline. Kids these days..
Congratulations, you're a human being. I'm thirty two! I win. I hope I don't die, that would ruin it.
It's been a good year. Every year is greater than the last. I'm lucky that way. Women can vote now. Even animals have rights. I'm excited to see what will happen next.
Excitement and anxiety are the same thing. I'm only capable of interpreting them differently when gifts are involved. I need a new shirt.
I hope that I get one. I hope that everything is always good, even when it's bad. That would be the best, I think. That might be what I'll wish for. Or dare I ask for both?
It's my birthday!!
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