A Very Unhappy Unbirthday

Betcha didn’t know how important today was. That’s okay; I think most people are unaware. Unaware of the fact that it’s my half birthday. That day exactly six months after your birthday and six months before your next one. That day when you realize the first six months were total shit. That day you pray to God that the second half of your 26th year is better than the first half. Let’s have a looksee: 

It started off w/ such promise. I spent my birthday in Maui, sharing it w/ the sun, sea turtles, and many a Mai Tai (B might have been there, too). Looking back, I see now that the year had nowhere to go but down. You can’t celebrate in Hawaii and then not be disappointed by what comes after. Fucking hindsight. 

So here I am now, six months later, in the dead of a winter that just won’t quit. A winter that forgot it was supposed to step aside weeks ago and let spring take the reins. Six months later, I’m unhappy with my career, my physical fitness, my strict chocolate-and-burrito-diet, my general pasty appearance, my inability to get excited about anything other than new episodes on AMC’s Sunday night line-up. 

Mama never said there’d be days like this. Days where getting out of bed is tantamount to getting Tay-Tay to write a song about something other than her pathetic escapades in dating; damn near impossible. Days where you swear time is moving backwards b/c the last time you checked the clock it was 9:07 and that was at least 15 minutes ago and how is it only 9:08?! Days where Full House reruns on Nick at Nite are bittersweet b/c you love these old episodes but you hate the fact that it’s 8pm and in 12 short hours it will be the same shit, different day. 

The second half of 26 has got to be better than the first half. There’s no Hawaii trip on the books, but there are rumors of the best supermarket ever coming to these parts. Trader Joe has nothing on Danny Wegman.