Today I turn 46, an inauspicious number, neither a round 45 nor meriting the freak-out worthy of 49 or 50. I wish I were happier as this day unfolds a lonely 46.
I’ve been in a bad mood all September because of a melancholic mix of the darkening season, unemployment, disdain of San Francisco, and my birthday. Why birthdays!? These are supposed to be happy, celebratory occasions.
For me, my birthday is an annual check point to weigh how far I’ve come and where I might be going. This year, I’m not where I want to be. I’m out of work, dealing with interpersonal issues, and feel as an overall failure. While friends kindly pull me out to celebrate, I retreat further because I have little that I want to celebrate.
Ironically, I lost my phone on Saturday night so I’ve been cut off from the world. As I don’t have a job or people essential to call, I may go without a ringer for a little while. I’ve got a lot to figure out, too much to dwell upon, and I’m not sure I’m up for pleasantries.
My parents did mail a card with a small amount of money. I spend this Tuesday on my own repairing Triangles and venturing to the fabric store.
Fortunately, October comes quite soon and perhaps then I can put all this gloom behind me. I need to get out of town.