Wake up!

As I expected, I woke up today with an acute feeling of embarassment over my crusade of self pity yesterday, as well as with a cough... I understand why it happened (lots to think about while my veins were beng poked and prodded, loneliness/homesickness, PMS), but, c'mon... talk about a whining, whinging... In any case, I feel ashamed. But when I started this blog, I didn't want it to be "reperesentative", showing only one side of me, the cool, mature, respectable side as though I was writing one of those "taken from life" boring-ass magazine columns. I am not cool, and I do get upset, and I am childish sometimes, as in a few times a day, and a drama queen, and I self destruct (to a point) and revel in misery. And the only way to change it is see it, so I see it now. I don't have time to write about everything that contradicts what I wrote/how I felt, but just say that if I cornered myself into the misunderstood/lonely/isolated niche I have only myself to blame. Well, lots of people get depressed on their birthdays. I guess there is the child, or spoilt princess in all of us, though looking back I can't recall a single birthday that was the epitome of that for me, or my ever being treated as a princess, but that isn't the point... "we" feel that birthdays "should" be special, that everyone should drop what they are doing and congratulate you (and I am in my 30s not teens....), that breakfasts should be served in bed (too many romantic movies), perhaps with a ring inside a bun (ha!!!). In short, ridiculous, kitschy crap. And now I am off for a jog in the grayness. Happy Birthday to You (me), now bugger off!