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Entry 11-22-02
Awww, boo hoo for me, how sad.

I had a dream this morning in which a couple of my fictional characters sent me a leather outfit for my birthday. It's the only gift I expect to receive. I was so excited by this that I woke up and ruined the dream. It seems like my subconscious has something to say about the virtue of choosing imaginary friends over real ones.

I used to not tell people in advance what day my birthday fell upon. I mean, unless they asked. I wanted to see who would trouble themselves to remember it and say or do something when the day came around. Nobody ever did. Few people remember such things unless there's something they want of you.

I've noticed that the people who get the biggest birthday celebrations are usually the most manipulative and abusive. It seems everyone likes being fucked over and can't wait to have more. Birthday presents are bribes. If you're popular, people send you gifts to get on your good side, especially if you're kind of a creep, too. If you have nothing to offer them, however, or if you're too generous with your kindness, there's no need to buy you off. It's like tribute in medieval times, sending gifts to the king so that you don't get your head chopped off with an axe later on.

After a while I started informing people a few days in advance when my birthday was coming up. This is much more satisfying. When the day arrives and I mention its significance, friends tell me they wish they'd known, and I get to say that I recently reminded them. Being right is so much fun.

Two people who consistently remember my birthday are my mother and grandmother, and this is to be expected, considering that my mother carried me around in her body for nine months, then presided over the birth, and then spent another fifteen years or so with me being the only thing in her life she had any control over. Naturally, I am ungrateful for any cards she sends me.

I think from now on I'll refuse to tell my friends when my birthday is. Then they'll have an excuse and I won't have to be frustrated with them. Maybe I'll forget when it is, too.

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