Once again, it's the 26th of December - my birthday. But it's not MY day, it's just the day that I was born, nothing more...
3 am. Couldn't sleep. Checked my mobile phone for interesting stuff. Interesting enough, 3 messages awaited for my eyes to stare unto them. How enticing. (Smug) Rolled over the bed several times until sleep once again reigned.
Woke up to a gloomy morning. Got all dressed for mass. Truly, the morning is my part of the day. Being serenaded by singing sisters was indeed 'the' highlight of the day. Spent the rest of the morning taking care of my nephew, as my cousin sailed away for 'my' celebratory food. (Well, the only thing that was of my request was the effing Russian salad. The rest was theirs. And oh boy, they surely had mouthfuls.) Come noontime, my mojo faded to a snuffed out candle. People started to arrive, some surprisingly bothered to notice my spectral presence, while others just went by as if passing by nobody. Tried to sleep but the noise was too loud. Opened my ever dearest Kahlua and exiled myself above onto my most tranquil place, my domain - the rooftop. I would have had the 'inspiration' to write but too bad my notebook wasn't mine to control. It was in the possession of those who would rather spend time talking to other people who also don't seem to give a damn. Thwarted was I when they could no longer cope with the advancements of my electronic machinery, thus, all of a sudden, they noticed my 'disappearance' as they had to bother me to get back what was of their delight.
Come afternoon, finally, true acquaintances arrived. (Thank God) Too bad their stay only lasted a few hours. But as they sheltered me with their company, we tried to catch up on the old times; as times like this one are rare nowadays, every second worth the laughs, the stories, the 'dandruff'. (Smirk) More people started to arrive, the more I wanted to get away. As soon as my friends had to go, back was I again to becoming the heretic. As much as I wanted to drift away, I was a slave for them as they and the people on the line wanted so much pictures that I would have made a short story out of them. Night bit, people started to go, some bothered to look for me while others went on by without a single breath of self-riddance.
Now I am alone once again, physically. But it is in this condition where I feel warmth, with my chair, my notebook, my glass, the scornful music and the air that embraces me.
I do not hate the people whom I seem to loathe in the aforementioned text. I can't blame them. Who the hell am I to demand a single whiff from their golden mouths? As long as they do not disrupt the tranquility of my solitude, I will not freak out, explode and amok as I would have done in dreams. I do not hate them but I am almost convinced to celebrate this day by myself or with the company of my most treasured loved ones - no hypocrites, no crashers. Every year, this scenario has always been the same. All I want is something small, simple, intimate. Yes, indeed, I am anti-social. I'd rather stay on the rooftop alone the whole day than with the presence of ghouls. And yes, relatives count in that category.
Night fades, another day comes. I am an adult. I am free. If you'll excuse me, I'd have another bottle of Kahlua and more songs from Peaches... (Slurp. Slurp.) "Fuck the pain away... Fuck the pain away... Fuck the pain away..."
