Peas, Mint, Bread and Burrata

and a story about fireworks

Last Sunday was my birthday. I do not very often make a big deal out of it. That day has, for much of my adult life, been filled with more uncomfortable or life upending moments than I’d like and somewhere along the way, I just stopped telling people, unless they asked. It’s very funny that one of my closest friends still does not know when it is. I kind of love it. Every year it makes me laugh when I don’t get a call. Almost like a relief that I don’t have to be celebrated by someone I truly love. 

My other closest friend’s birthday is the day prior to mine and we always celebrate each other. It’s almost like it levels the attention, so I can deflect to celebrating her, rather than having to be the center of anyone else’s attention. This year, I inadvertently deconstructed my feelings on the matter when, a friend who I now live near, spent six weeks getting excited to celebrate my birthday with me. It made me excited to celebrate! And a little uncomfortable. And then he forgot and I had to remind him, which turned the whole thing on its head and I didn’t want to celebrate anymore.