Wednesday was my 33rd birthday. Big whoop. My brother’s been right all this time: What’s the big fuckin’ deal?
Erin (ever the optimist, which is only one of the reasons I love her) really wanted to do something special for me on my birthday. I can’t imagine the disappointment she must’ve felt when faced with my apathy toward it all. Yet, she didn’t pressure me or otherwise cheerlead me into faking it.
She wrote the sweetest/funniest words in the card she left for me to find. We went out to dinner and had a great time spending time together, just us.
Reversing the situation—as her birthday is this coming Wednesday—I really want to do something special for hers. If she was to say, “Fuck it, I don’t care”, I’m sure I’d be disappointed, as well. But, since I’m the overbearing control-freak when convenient, I won’t let that happen.
We will have an amazing time, goddamnit… even if it kills us!
It has to do with me being a self-absorbed, self-loathing (don’t even ask), prideful “don’t worry about me” asshole who really doesn’t want/need the consideration that I’m driven to over-give to others (if and only if I judge them worthy)… Erin foremost and especially (who is beyond worthy and beyond my judgment).
It’s not all about me anymore. It can’t be… I love her more than me. She wrote that she was lucky to be spending my birthday(s) and her life with me.
But, I’m the lucky one.