I'm Just a Girl. Lucky Me.

It's my birthday.

I was peed on by my gramsie’s new Japanese chin a couple days back. I went with her to pick it up and as I held it on the way back it kindly wet my t-shirt, warm and sudden.

Walking mindlessly around the kitchen this morning, I discovered the fridge. I discovered the pantry. I discovered incessant eating, for the millionth time. It's my goddamn birthday, why shouldn't I eat?

Depression has always been on-again/off-again with me. I'll date it for a while, then it breaks up with me. It's a subtle break up, but a wonderful one. Eventually it'll slide right back in like the scummy villain of a 1980's teen film. Birthdays have not always signified a depressed state, but they have recently started to. It began in 2006. I woke up in my little bed in NY, looked out my window onto the fire escape and the gorgeous solid wall beyond it, and I realized I was truly glad to be there. I did not, however, understand why sadness overtook me when I knew I wouldn't be happy in California either. I went to Bloomie to get a manicure. I repeatedly stole quick glances to my right, where Carla Gugino was also enjoying an elder asian woman's soft touch. The family I lived with took me to breakfast at 202. I then took the liberty of meandering round the city with little or no thoughts until I felt so inclined to eat again. And again. And then again at my favorite Thai place, where the waiters wore kilts with china-flats and called me, "hun."

The next year I woke up in my Gramsie's house in my mother's old bedroom, having no desire to enter the world where I knew there would be people waiting, despite the smell wafting toward me from the kitchen. My gramsie had made blueberry pancakes; I ate them slow and fixed. I stared at things. I knew I was staring at stupid stuff, like little canisters of salt, but I couldn't stop.

This year, I'm going to Disneyland with my dad the minute I wake up in 7 or 8 hours. I'm not sure how this'll affect me. But that's the plan and it won't change, though I'm already sensing a morbid irony. It'll be interesting, if absolutely nothing else. Since I'm a season passholder, I get a gift card on my birthday! Hello, sweet deals for 2009.

A couple minutes ago I arrived home from my boyfriend's house where we ate snacks and he gave me HP years 1-5 on blu-ray disc. He cheerfully handed the parcel over to my rotten, depressed looking face. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve to be handed blu-ray sets of any kind, not even if it was something awful like The Hills.

But listen. I've got Haribo Sour S'getti, SoBe Green Tea, Pokemon Pearl Edition, 5 entire blu-ray HPs to watch (all of which was provided by the supernice boyfriend), and a psychiatric appointment coming right up. Who the hell can be sad after all that treasure?