Still finding myself fixated on the topic of birthdays by contemplating my own (somewhat) upcoming day. And as much as I hope to view it as a new beginning or the start of incredible things to come, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.
I mean, I do have a good twenty plus years worth of sorrow behind me as solid proof that this may not be my happily ever after.
Regardless, I desperately want to do something spectacular for my birthday. Considering I haven’t actually caroused in well over five years and the last four have seen me “celebrate” it forlornly solo. I can’t recall how many past birthdays that I’ve yearned to revere abroad. Wistfully, I’ve never been given the chance to do so. Be it finances or simple prior commitments. And now that things have improved considerably, albeit far from wiping my ass with hundred dollar bills, there is still a very good chance I could actually make this long-standing yearning reality.
I could potentially spend my dirty thirty in Sin City.
Except, who will actually join me?
I know who I’d love to have by my side. And I have already made my intentions clear and extended the offer to them. Sadly my invitation was not met with the sheer excitement I prayed it would; not that I originally anticipated it so.
I understand they all lead separate lives. That they have partners, children and other (better) friendships. That we are all saving for our first homes or paying rent while some even have weddings on the horizon. A part of me was hoping for miracles.
I feel like I’ve morphed into that boy who cried wolf. I’ve penned so many birthday adventures in the past that have never manifested so perhaps they don’t quite believe just how serious I am?
Or maybe, they just don’t care anymore?
I’m now a mere acquaintance and for them to take such an exorbitant amount of time out of their lives is like asking for their right arm and leg. I’m just not worth it to them. But I do wonder, if I were in a position to pay for their flights and accommodations would they take me up on it? Drop everything and throw caution to the wind?
It’s actually astonishingly melancholic to even entertain such thoughts. To think, I’d have to pay “friends” of mine to celebrate my birthday with me. Could you imagine if they’d turn me down still?
But this is my reality. I’ve somehow made this bed of mine and am now forced to lay in it. The past few years have been overly exhausting and taxing both mentally and physically. It’s seen me withdraw and wither away, I just never imagined it would also permeate those friendships.
For now, I need to focus on that fact that for the first time in a very, very long time travel is actually a possibility. It really is; despite being sans a companion or two to venture on this with. The thought of doing so alone wouldn’t necessarily deter me, however considering that this is my birthday, my thirtieth no less, being friendless just feels so wrong and utterly pathetic. And I already posses my share of humiliation as it is.