Tomorrow is my birthday.
I'll be 21.
I honestly believe the apathy I feel regarding all this is real. I think my brain is too sick to be happy that YAYI'M21!!! or sad that I'm not going to be celebrating (I really felt entirely too pudgy not to get back to restricting immediately upon returning home), or angry that I'm letting my eating disorder ruin this for me. I know that I'll look back on this birthday and be pissed. But right now, I don't care about turning 21. It doesn't even feel like it's about to be my birthday. Three of the sophomores have birthdays this week, and they're throwing a party on Saturday to celebrate jointly. I didn't tell them it was my birthday, too. I'll probably buy them a really nice bottle of champagne and take it to their party as a gift, then leave. I've always believed in classy alcohol, and now that I'm of age and buying is less of a hassle (I've never tried my ID at a fancy liquor store, though I'm sure it would take) I plan to drink vicariously through others.
There's so much pressure in our society for people to have a good time on their birthday. I think Jim Gaffigan has a rather enjoyable bit about that.
It doesn't feel like it's been a year, it really doesn't, but then again I suppose that's because I haven't really done anything this year.
I have to go to rehearsal for Motherfucking Courage and Her Sophomores now. Cheers.
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