Author: Matthew Trevino | Categories: Life | Date: April 29, 2007
The Tags: May

First off, I’d like to start this entry by saying that while good for you, physical labor does not feel good for you. And also that raking leaves is mind-numbing.

My 23rd is coming up (May 17th) and I’ve been wondering how I will be celebrating it. (28 Weeks Later is slated for a May 11th release, so that might be one option).

Truthfully, I don’t want to see anyone (other than Erin) and at this point, I really don’t think there is anybody left who remotely cares (or remembers) about it either way.

For fucks sake, my own father can’t even get my age right (he thinks I’m 21).

Some things I would like to receive for my birthday would include:

• A cake of some sort, filled with some sort of icing.
• A …

Who cares.

No, I don’t mean that in a self loathing sense – but really, it’s just another day marked by celebration. In my world, that usually means people who aren’t nice to me are nice to me (for a day) and then – back to reality.

Birthdays have become nothing more than hollow traditions, shells of what they used to be, represent and invoke in the human spirit. A birthday is nothing more than a sad reminder that at some point you will die, leaving behind everything you ever wished to accomplish and everyone you ever thought you cared about.

Answer: “its a celebration of life, although you gained age, you also gained knowledge, friends and other good things in your lifetime. It’s your day and be thankful you live to celebrate it”

Question: What is the most trite way you can explain to me on the reasoning behind celebrating ones birthday…

Aging is the process of dying – celebrating aging is celebrating death – celebrating death is rejoicing in the fact that at some point, death will certainly happen – rejoicing in things that will happen anyway no matter what the fuck you do about them are in and of themselves pointless – most people would say that life is pointless – most people would also say that the sentences you just read were, themselves, without point – making them pointless.

You know, I really had a totally different idea on what I was going to write about. But for some reason it just turned into whatever this has been.

And for whatever reasons, I’m sorry – or happy – whatever works for you.

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