Are we supposed to enjoy our birthdays?

I’m honestly not quite sure. I find it disappointing every year, no matter what I am anticipating. I just aim for something short of mediocre- nothing big, not too many people, nothing fancy.

You can’t possibly screw that up, right? Well.

It just brings on a whole new wave of depression that’s not even linked to getting older. I couldn’t care less how old I am, what number it is; it’s not a curse you can’t say out loud.

I can’t be the only one who dreads their birthday only because the gift they received is doom and gloom.

I’m perfectly fine being thirty. I could just deal without the melodrama that came with it.

Happy fucking birthday.