Tomorrow is my birthday. One hour, minus nine minutes. Eight hours and five minutes until the exact time I was born. Twenty two years ago.

I've been wondering all week, or perhaps even longer, what I should do. For your birthday you always want to do something different, something special. I've been mulling it over for so long and coming up empty handed that I almost don't care. Everyone wants to drink and party and I'm just like... fuck that. Really, we don't drink enough? I'm tired of drinking. Bars, nightclubs, big fucking deal. Been drinking legally for four years now. I'm over it. Kind of frustrating that your friends don't get that, and they don't bother to think of anything special to do for you. But I guess that's how boys are, they don't think outside of bars and strip clubs and casinos when it comes to birthday. I need more friends that are girls. Except I hate friends. They really bug me sometimes, I can only handle so many.

I'm not going to ignore the fact that tomorrow is my birthday, but I do recognize that now maybe I'm a little too grown up to think of it in terms as the best day of the year, where my mom makes my favourite breakfast and supper, and my favourite cake and ice cream for dessert. No mountains of pretty wrapped packages with shining bows. That's ok, I don't really mind.