The Beatles Loved it so Much, They Wrote a Song About It.

Fun fact: I turned 24 yesterday (technically, since it's after midnight).

My birthday comes each year as a symbol, much in the same way that I view New Year's day. I don't panic that I'm getting older, or that I'm now considered in my "mid-twenties." I don't have midlife crises (I don't think I'm going to meet the high average of the human life expectancy. No real reason, just a strange hunch). I don't go out and do something stupid. Every year I have a small group of people around me, and it's rarely planned ahead of time. I don't care about presents, or money, or odd special activities. I care about being surrounded by people I love. Usually this means my friends, since my family's always around anyway.

An anniversary of the day you were squirted from the womb - not as pretty as it's made out to be. Many claim it's a celebration of life, but those people tend to be short sighted when considering that every day should be a celebration of life. Some see it as death's hand giving them the finger, reminding them that he's watching very closely. These people also see a cup as half empty, and filled with bile. Others see it as a chance for something new, a fresh start. I suppose that's a decent enough goal, but it's only been thirteen days since I did that already. I haven't especially fucked all that much up in that time, there's no real reason for me to "start fresh" again.

I see birthdays as a little of each of these things, because I don't feel that a birthday (or an age, for that matter) should be all that special all the time. Well, no. That's a lie. I don't feel that mine is all that significant. I like having it acknowledged, but much more than that and I almost feel guilty. To an extent it's a matter of fairness, I suppose. I love to do something special for each of my friends on their birthday if possible, even if it's nothing all that big. Even if it's something as simple as a warm hug or a firm handshake or some other gesture that wouldn't've been there for that reason otherwise. In some cases it goes much larger or deeper, but the little things mean the most.

For this reason, I can't object too heavily when my friends do anything for me on my own uterus-eviction day. I sometimes feel mildly guilty about it, or in other cases try to find something that will offset the hassle in some small way, but ultimately I yield to my friends. Perhaps that's why I stay around them so much: they can break through my stubbornness without a thought, and are willing to return the same kindness that was shown them, even when it isn't expected. It's not that they pay for my meal, it's that they refused to let me pay. I had to sneak five dollars in towards tip so it could get through.

As stated somewhere above - I'm too lazy to scroll up to see where it was - I don't really plan much of anything for this day. Never really have, not for years. I'll usually spend it with my girlfriend, or I'll invite some friends to my house for cake, finger food, and board games. It's just like any other day, except for cake. Today was my most-last-minute gathering ever, literally inviting people an hour before we were to meet. That said, it went well for a haphazard setup. Good food, a good group of friends, and random frivolities in a city so close that I never really visit. It was a good night for its simplicity.

A birthday should never be a day of mourning, no day ever really should (except, of course, when you're in mourning. Then I suppose it's fine). Be glad you're alive, and even when the day is terrible (I've had my share of those birthdays too, I feel your pain), celebrate in some small way that you were at least able to see it.

Well. I think that probably went off from what I wanted to say, but that's fine. This is probably still readable. Whenever your day is, Happy Birthday to you.