26 years ago today...

I was faced with what was probably the most traumatic experience I could ever imagine. One from which I have never fully recovered: I was thrust from my warm, wet home into a new world filled with light, colour, air, sound and an astounding array of other stimuli.

I was born.

In honour of this event, my weekend has been filled with festivities. They have brought me much joy, as well as the usual disappointments that I have come to expect from this time of year.

For logistical reasons I was forced to split my celebrations up into three separate events: Friday night I went out with the geeks, last night I had a birthday party/house-warming at home and today I had a picnic lunch with the family.

The number of people who turned up at these events served as a reminder of how lucky I am to have so many people in my life who care for me.

I have friends prepared to drive a long way to spend time with me, I have others who will knowingly face uncomfortable encounters for my sake, and on top of that I have the coolest house-mates in the world.

As I expected, my sisters and father forgot my birthday. They do it every year. If my mother hadn’t given them all a hard time they wouldn’t have bothered to pitch at the picnic.

However I over-estimated their interest in my life. I was rather surprised that none of them were interested in seeing my new home… even though it was right around the corner from where the picnic was held. I now realize that my surprise was foolish. I should have expected that.

I was treated to an awesome dinner this evening by a gorgeous blonde of my acquaintance, but yet I seem to once again be conforming to the pattern that has emerged over the last three years: on my birthday I’m going to be sleeping alone.

A depressing end to a generally very enjoyable weekend. I’ll try not to dwell on the negative.