Not So Much

I wasn’t even going to write a post today. I have been going back and forth about writing this one, the one you are about to read. (Unless you change your mind right now.)

See, it’s my birthday today.

And in many years past, I have liked my birthday. I have loved my birthday. At one point in high school, someone dubbed it “The Day of Dawn” and it stuck. I have certainly had better luck than some people.

On my birthday, I would treat myself very special. I would take the day off of work (if I were working); I would go to a museum, treat myself to lunch, write. One of the best, more recent birthdays, I did a poetry reading that I organized with several other women, Pittsburgh poets I admired. That was a good one.

But the past four or five birthdays, they haven’t been so hot. Last year doesn’t really count; I had a 3-week-old infant. My present to myself was this here blog. Boy, that first entry was rough.

This year’s birthday, though, looks like a new low.

I am sitting in my office at 1 a.m. I cannot sleep. I just got offered a job, a job I should take solely for financial reasons, and I am assailed with doubts and depression. Not about the job, per se; the job will be fine. I just have to show up.

It’s the not-job stuff that has me anxious and up at 1 a.m. That and the fact that DearDR and I… I don’t know if you can call it a fight. But it was certainly a conversation that made rest, sleep that is, next to impossible. For me, at any rate.

See, I was explaining how hard things were going to be around here (the homefront) with me working full time. And while I know he, too, works full (more than) time, he was, at the least, going to have to take the girls to daycare. Which is going to require some new habits for him. But, to be honest, we are both going to have to develop new habits, more disciplined habits, in order to survive and become stronger.

Anyway, it’s 1 a.m., and I have been crying on the couch. Because the talking didn’t go so well tonight, and DearDR said some things that really hurt me. And because DearDR is a last-minute type of person, I know he doesn’t have a little gift or even a card to give me later today to soften the blow.

We’re broke anyway, another birthday theme for the past few years, so I don’t know what I could expect in any case.

And while I entertained the thought of taking the girls to the Children’s Museum on this day of me, the reality is I have to go grocery shopping. So that’s what I’m doing later.

That and accepting the job.

I’m not so sure about sleeping, though. That may be a long time coming.

Happy freakin’ birthday to me.

Because I’m Tired of Thinking About Stuff

From Chag at Cynical Dad, I lifted this fun little meme.

For the name of your band, take the title of this page.
The title of your album is the last four words of the last quote on this page. If you’re not happy, cheat and hit the button for more random quotes.
Finally, your album art is the third picture on this page.

If you can, Photoshop the whole mess together (I am barely talented enough to do this), and post it on your site.

Blog Album

I originally tried to do this from Niobe’s page, but my band name was going to be List of Optometry Schools, and even I am not that lame. I let her inspire me differently instead.

I decided to link to the first music video I ever saw. (Can’t embed it. Darn.)

Can you spot the misspelled word?

Edited to add: Here are some other cool album covers around the blog-o-sphere: Niobe’s; the weirdgirl (who is apparently having my week, too… will try roller derby name soon); Sci-Fi Dad; and Ewe.