Well, well, well.

I was going to use the song “twenty eight” by The Weeknd for this but it truly just does not fit, so there will be no lyrics in this passage.

Today’s my birthday, and let me say, I fucking hate birthdays. I always have. Or at least most of my life. Birthdays 21-26 were really good, birthday 27 wasn’t the worst, actually birthday 28 is.

It’s the first of many birthdays I’ll be “celebrating” without Presley. I’m sure anyone who reads this is at least a little sick about hearing about this dog, but if you had the opportunity to meet her, you’d love hearing about her as much as I love writing about her.

You know, everyone has faults, and for the faults my ex did have, she really knew how to make birthdays special, in the most minimalist yet thoughtful way possible.

Every year, she’d get me something, usually something small because we didn’t really like spending a lot of money on gifts.

My favorite thing every year was she would get me a card, and sign it as if Presley got it for me, it usually said something funny and the writing was all backwards and upside down, because let’s be honest, if dogs could write you know it would be all jacked up, after all they don’t have thumbs.

My final birthday card from Presley.

I don’t really like any days that offer a heightened opportunity at reflection, and that’s exactly what a birthday is.

Where have the good days gone?

How long will the bad days stay?

This is the first birthday I don’t get to hangout with Presley.

I have a real problem with birthdays, and sometimes I wish people didn’t know when mine was, or if I had one at all, hell maybe I’m immortal.

People say happy birthday, but strictly out of expectations set by society, it’s what you do you say happy birthday.

What if the birthday isn’t happy?

What if this is one of the worst days I’ve had this year?

I think we should lose the happy birthday bullshit, and instead just check in on people on their day of birth.

“Hey another trip around the sun, how are you?” is how I’d like to be addressed if you must mention it.

I don’t like birthdays because I don’t like being the center of attention.

I don’t like birthdays because when people say nice things about me it makes me genuinely uncomfortable. I don’t know how to respond, I don’t believe the things, and I feel fucking weird about all of it.

And there’s this weird thing around birthdays where it’s “your day” and you should do what you want, eat what you want, etc.

What if I didn’t want a single happy birthday, wanted to spend the day with my dog who’s no longer hear, and spend the evening training jiu jitsu at MAUMAU?

What if instead the people around you make your birthday about them, say happy birthday, make you eat cake, make you pick a meal you wouldn’t usually eat and keep talking about how special the day is.

What if I didn’t get anything I wanted on my birthday and I just want midnight to strike so I can move on from it for another 364 days before I have to repeat this dreadful process.

What if instead of happy birthday, you share on social media a dog that needs to a home? Maybe I can somehow make that a new tradition for myself.

When people die and there’s a funeral sometimes people say in lieu of flowers please donate to “blank” cause in honor of so&so.

In lieu of happy birthdays, please share a dog that needs a home.

I know I sound like a real sour puss right now and I apologize, if you did say happy birthday or any of the other things that go with it, thank you.

Sincerely, thank you from the bottom of my heart, it means a great deal you took a moment out of your day to think about me. I’m just grieving and being pouty about it.

To those who reached out or read this, thanks for being here.

I’m grateful for another go around the sun, another opportunity to right the things I’ve done wrong, and try to add a little kindness and magic into this world.

With all my love,

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.

P.S. I found a song called “twenty eight” by Taylor Acorn, it’s the exact type of depressing shit I was looking for. Lyrics below:

Sometimes I think about the old days
I don’t know where they went
’Cause these days when I look in the mirror
I don’t really know who I am
Thought maybe I would have a family, or a house by now
At twenty-eight, I never thought I’d be the one who let me down