One more day until B-day

I can feel the tension rising.

It's not that I mind getting older; as they say, it is better than the alternative. Last year's birthday fiasco, though, is fresh in my memory and I'd just as soon forget the "Happy Birthdays" and the cards and all the stuff. But the first thing I saw this morning was an e-card. The thoughts are nice, but I'd just as soon concentrate on other things.

Last year I hit the BIG 4-0. Brian planned a big party just to see it go down in smoke on the day it was originally planned because I was supposed to sing at a wedding the same night as he planned it. (Yes, he had known that for months.) Then something happened and I ended up not singing at the wedding, either. (No one has ever told me what happened there; she just never got back to me as she was supposed to.) By the time number 40 rolled around, Brian was out of town, but he let a small, "obligation" party happen without him on my birthday. I bucked up and went to the thing even though I was already crying and I was just wanting to go out and away; then I cried for days, mostly because he didn't come home for the party and partly because I found out he hadn't moved the one he was planning to the following Saturday. Then I found out that he hadn't invited any of the folks I wanted to see, anyway (Pam, Pete, Renee, Ben & Ruthie, Karen, etc.) and that he HAD invited the extended family that always makes me feel stupid (and he knows it) and it all just became pointless. I went from hurt to crushed to "who cares anyway?" I'd never had a birthday party before and I was really looking forward to a meaningful biggie on my 40th because that's the one adult one where you DO have biggies, but that didn't happen, either.

So now, here I am, acknowledging the eve of Number 41 by writing a blog on why I don't want to acknowledge Number 41 or any other number.