Party Like Jehovah!

For me, the new year really begins on my birthday. There's a nice week to settle down from the snowballing holidays, and then comes my birthday, along with the sobering realization that I am now twenty-three years old and have done nothing with my life.


HOORAY!

The Boy is in New York on a business trip this week. A fuse blew and the circuit breaker tripped Sunday night, so the apartment has been half-dark for days. This morning I woke up with my throat all scratchy, and I considered slinking down to the bottom of the bed and dying, like a rat in a hole.

But instead I slid out of bed, amoeba-like, and slumped off to work under a grumbly sky. On my lunch break, I saw a bird get hit by a car. I drank some tea, and talked to the Amish, and then I went home.

And now, here I sit. Alone, in the dark, eating a bowl of soup and an entire cake. Wearing shark onesies. Softly singing, Happy biiiirthdaay tooo meee in a wobbly, wispy voice.

I'm calling it THE DARKEST BIRTHDAY, and I'm enjoying myself very much.

Still, I know what you're going to say. "Don't feel sorry for yourself, Carrie. Some people have never had a birthday party before - like poor people, and newborns. Some people never even acknowledge their birthdays, and they turn out okay."

You're right. Those people are called Jehovah's Witnesses, and they bring that upon themselves.  They sit there with all their own blood and drawl at each other, "Birthdays are sooo mainstream." They are the hipsters of religion, and I have no sympathy for them.

Jesus: The original hipster.

Images via flickr, 10 Cities 10 Years.