It was my birthday last week, which around these parts looks a lot like this:
That is to say, a lot of wine and eating and general merry-making.
I'm a little peculiar when it comes to birthdays. To me, there is nothing sadder, nothing, than a birthday that goes unnoticed and rather than rely on others to make a fuss over my day, I usually end up throwing myself some kind of party. This creates kind of a conundrum, because I then start to panic that no one will come, which is the worst kind of sad, because you've gone and made your own fuss and then no one acknowledged it!
In the past I've had parties at bars, or parties that my bf organized that were mostly his friends, or parties that I've shared with roommates (which is perfect when your birthdays are a week a part!), but this was the first year that I've had a party in my own apartment to just celebrate me.
It all seemed a little too self-indulgent. There was a facebook mishap where a bunch of people didn't get invited. I begged my family to make the drive to the city, so that if no one showed up at least they would be there. It was destined to fail and I would spend my birthday alone and friendless with piles of food going bad and drinks going warm.
But of course it didn't. In fact, I had such a good time that I forgot to take a single picture! And my apartment was full of family and friends and love and merry-making and I was (am) the luckiest girl in the whole world!
I'm slowly digging myself out, mentally and physically. All this snow and ice don't help, either. I finished and started some knitting and I've done a bit of sewing. All to come soon.
All. To. Come. Soon.
P.S. Thank you, everyone, for making a fuss and making me feel so loved!