Ahhh … got this text from my mom at 7:51 am EST …
“Exactly 34 years ago at this minute, 6:51, God blessed me with an amazing gift of life – you! Happy Birthday, child of mine. OGCLYM.”
OGCLYM. Only God Could Love You More. She signs all texts to my brother and I with that. Thanks, mommy. I do love you, and I appreciate your intention. But, suggesting that you love me LESS than the imaginary nothing which inspired me to consume the first 33 years of my life like a cross-eyed bovine is not comforting to me.
And, suggesting that you love me MORE than everyone else who loves me less than that undermining nada doesn’t do a whole lot for me either.
And, then I got a text from my dad at 8:36 am EST, which, if considered with the first text, might help explain where I get “it” from.
“Happy BD … have a special bd poop today! Luv Da Da.”
So, what is “it”? Scatological fascination? An incongruous thought process? Anti-social, subversive tendencies? Intimacy issues? Excessive guilt?
There are plenty of positives, but it’s my birthday. NOT the time to dwell on those. A birthday is more productively spent isolated in the throws of regret & existential angst than with loved ones who insist on —
OH, enough … fortunately for anyone reading this, I got distracted by an encouraging stimuli (leave it to your imagination, but it WASN’T a boob), and now I want to change this birthday tune!
If I pray really hard today (or if I drink a lot tonight), The Guy With The Eye may make an appearance and give me some sage advice before the clock strikes midnight, my special day is all over & the real word takes me by surprise!!
Ohhhh, BLESSED be me from my father, BLESSED be me from a whore, BLESSED be me on my BIRTHDAY, My birthday THREE & FOUR!!!!
Alright, actually, I think my mother might’ve lost her virginity to my father, but it’s my song & my birthday. Be nice or piss off.