God I hate birthdays. They are always depressing no matter how many fun things you have planned. In the back of your mind there is always a little demon with a hot pitchfork stabbing you in that part of your brain that you try to forget is there, telling you that you are one more year closer to being ugly, fat, wrinkled, gray haired and undesirable. One more year closer to dying and being forgotten.
At least somebody sent me a birthday card. I’ve gotten three so far. A picture from a coworker, the card above from a coworker and a postcard from my chiropractor. Yip yay.
God I hate birthdays.
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