12:47am and I'm drifting off in the laptop glow amongst piles of clothes and books on my bed (debris from a failed attempt to clean my room earlier in the day). It's messy up there but the weight on my legs is nice and it's only me and I'm in the lavish mood of smug entitlement you get when you know you're presently only accountable to yourself. One more facebook scrabble move before sleep and there's a message in the chat box next to the board usually saved for smack-talk: "I'm sure this is the best place to say it: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
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The ridiculous smug entitlement continues through the morning. I have a longer shower and use extra leave-in conditioner BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. I download 3 albums BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. My housemate has left a giant Haigh's chocolate frog for me and I eat it for breakfast BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. I cut my wrist on the edge of the gold foil, but my classy housemate wrapped the whole shebang in baking paper and band-aids, so I peel one off and stick it on the cut then and there. This sequence of events makes me giggle all morning and I think about karma and that 'no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should' quote (but not too hard).
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It's cold and wet with blustery wind, and I'm dubious about hazy plans to meet a friend at a mall across town for band-project-related shopping, but I have been discovering excuses to be antisocial all week and it must stop. I will wait for a bus in the rain and I will enjoy it BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. It starts hailing. I am smiling though, because only yesterday I was lamenting the sudden return of 35 degree sunshine, and it's becoming ever clear to me how lucky I am that the difference between having a nice time and a terrible one can be controlling a few electrical impulses in my brain.
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The restorative delights of trying on dresses, talking about weddings, stationery, eyeshadow, 50s bathing suits. The nice realisation my friend didn't need me to help her shop for the project; she knew I was alone, she wanted to keep me company on my birthday. The nagging realisation I hesitate doing this for others thanks to a mixture of shyness, laziness and not wanting to interfere. Craig calls; he is in the Netherlands, I am in Cheap As Chips, and it's the first we've spoken in a week and a half. There's enough time lag over the line to give the impression of awkward pauses. He is tired enough to give the impression that touring Europe and playing to sold out crowds isn't all it's cracked up to be. Both are false impressions, I am sure, but they unsettle me slightly.
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We're seated in an art deco cinema amidst the dull roar of 750 women who like seeing Julia Roberts movies. The lights dim and Julia Roberts and her teeth are sad in New York, hungry in Italy, pensive in India, and contented in Bali, whilst we are asked to care. All around me there are sniffles at the wedding dance and nervous laughter when a father kisses his son goodbye on the lips, and all I'm thinking is PORN PORN PORN THIS IS A SHALLOW GRATUITOUS PORN FLICK DRESSED UP AS ONE ABOUT LOVE AND SPIRITUALITY. PORRNNNN. Laura asks for my thoughts, and I know how much the book means to her, so I say it was... sweet, how about you? She didn't like it.
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I come home to 40 or so facebook messages and I'm happy happy happy. Yes, it's easier to tap away a few simple words and click a picture of a thumbs up than it is to give someone a call or send a card. But you are still thinking of someone and letting them know of it, and that small joy of human connection can't be dismissed.
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