Each step from birth is toward death.

I awoke yesterday to find myself suddenly a year older. I’m thirty-six now, the point at which old people can tell you life goes downhill. It’s my last chance to be in my mid-thirties, I’m older but I haven’t hit a notable milestone like thirty-five, and as anyone who has listened to Abigail can tell you, thirty-six is nine (just like eighteen) which is evil and that’s not good. Next year, if I live that long, I’ll be thirty-seven which marks the beginning of my late thirties, then thirty-eight which is eleven (also an evil number), then thirty-nine which will be depressing because I’ll be living on the edge of old age, then forty which is just too old and nobody should have to suffer that indignity. I look forward to death. But, in the meantime, Party! Woot. As berthdays go, this one was not too disastrous. I didn’t fall down a hill, or have my house demolished by a tree, or wind up lost in the woods or on some empty highway in Indiana (these all happened).

Last year I did the spontaneous thing. On my birthday I jumped into my car and drove toward New Echota to get in touch with my roots before spending the day shopping and eating Mexican food. I didn’t know exactly where to find New Echota, but I knew the general direction and distance and thought the road signs could point me the way. After driving for what felt like much too far, I turned back about a mile before the first directional sign and stopped by the outlet mall I wanted to visit. Most of the stores had moved and the restaurant had closed, so I drove back, tried a different Mexican restaurant, and found it disgusting but mercifully cheap. I spent the rest of the day tracking down the stores, restaurant, and historic site I wanted to visit.

The next day I did everything I attempted to do the previous day, except I had Cajun seafood instead of Mexican. Upon reflection, I decided that spontaneity was overrated. The concept is the keenest bit; the execution is usually messy. I decided to plan this year’s celebration.

Unfortunately, this year snuck up on me and I forgot to plan anything big. Since disasters usually tend to fall on my birthday, I stayed at home and made a few small plans, like going out for food and maybe a movie. I wasn’t very hungry for breakfast, so I decided to go to Dunkin’ Donuts since I haven’t done that in years. I discovered DD only sells donuts now as an afterthought, being much more focused on coffee and bagels than the common, lowly donut these days. Anyway, a nice hyperactive man who looked like Gandhi and sounded like Apu took my order (three donuts, assorted, frosted) and despite my repeatedly regularly repeating my request repeatedly, he still managed to get it almost, but not quite, completely wrong (I got one chocolate frosted and two without so much as a glaze on them). I kicked myself for paying instead of walking out, but I really wanted the one donut I asked for (and the others weren’t too bad).

On the way home I reflected on how part of my life’s goal is now to become a recluse so I don’t have to deal with situations like that. I decided to pass on the movie, but still planned to go for an early dinner at Pappadeaux, the Cajun seafood place I patronized for my last birthday. Still not feeling very hungry, I left for dinner later than planned (although still early) and found the one exit from my apartment complex blocked by fire trucks, police cruisers, and wrecked cars. When I escaped that, I arrived at the restaurant to find every parking place taken and cars filling any available space remaining. I abandoned the dinner out idea, returned to my hermit-like existence, and heated a new flavored sausage and chicken gumbo TV dinner I had. It sucked.

So, once again, my birthday was lousy. I’m declaring an extended period of worship and celebration through the next weekend. I’m planning to visit the Tennessee Aquarium and the Atlanta Zoo this week. Downtown Chattanooga actually has some nice restaurants, and I’ll feast there if the aquarium people refuse to let me bring my bait and tack inside again. Next weekend I’ll try the Cajun seafood place again, this time arriving early, like for breakfast. I wonder what crawfish flapjacks taste like.

Thanks to everyone who posted/e-mailed me birthday wishes. The rest of you are gonna burn, burn, burn. You will all drown in fiery lakes of blood. (JK) (Not really) :p

Death, out