So yeah, I’m 26 today. I don’t feel older than I did yesterday, nor do I feel any wiser. If anything I feel a little younger because my aches and pains from the gym are gone.
Anyway, the first song I heard on the radio this morning (around 7am) was Mambo #5. It’s been forever since I’ve heard that one and when I heard it I kept thinking about that stupid little flash video called Combo #5 about the chinese food. Aah the memories. Reminds me of conquering the Uncle in 2 Willard. If you don’t know what that means, you weren’t meant to know.
If anything interesting happens today I’ll throw up an update later. I might get my hair cut. If it’s particularly bad, there will be pictures.

So, my parents take me out for the day cause it’s my birfday. We go to Wal-Mart because there’s a salon near there where I get my hair done. I can’t get fit into the schedule today, so I told my mom that I’d come back tomorrow. Dad agrees and says, “I’m tired, I don’t want to walk around this big store anyway.”

In the next heartbeat, my mother has a shopping cart and proceeds to run all over the store filling it. Not only does she decide to try to do a full month’s worth of grocery shopping, but she goes into the pet section, gets one thing, then crosses the half mile long store to the food section to get something else and then TURNS BACK cause cat food is the next item on her list. So this zig-zagging ritual contunes and after I’d walked about 2 miles, I lost it. I had a fit and i tore her a new orafice in public.

Who gives you the right to take over someone else’s birthday? If this was her birthday, we’d all have been shunned for weeks. In 2002, I took over a week off of work and flew down to Orlando just for my father’s 70th birthday and on that day we did whatever he wanted to. I am forced to give respect but not get any in return. In the same breath my parents will tell me I am being childish and then treat me like a child. How does a person become an adult if they’re not treated like one? How can you teach someone to give respect when you don’t give them any? Where is the example? When am I going to be allowed to grow up?

As you can see, this is not only an illustration of my mother’s mental illness, but a clear illustration of the delicious irony I have to live with every day. Yes, I said mental illness. I have come to grips with my depression and my anxiety disorder, which are a result of being around her. She, however, refuses to consult a professional about her mood swings and her manic cycles because she doesn’t put any stock in them. This is what I am forced to deal with daily, people.

Now you know why I am dying to move out of this place. It’s not just Orlando, it’s the bloody mind trip that happens in this house. If I could I’d take my father with me but he’s too softheaded to realize that life can be better and he has a guilt complex that my mother has instilled in him for the past thirtysomething years.

If you’ve read this far, let me give you some advice. It is ok to be selfish enough to live your own life. Don’t fall prey to the guilt traps laid by parents and family members. Don’t ever stop your life to try to spend “quality time” with these people that just take you for granted anyway. If you’re going to take a chunk of time out of your life to spend with your parents before they wither and die, make sure you have the type of parents that will recognize this gift of time that you’re giving them. Don’t waste time on people that treat you like a piece of refuse. Don’t waste time on unreasonable people who ask for help and advice but never make use of it. And for god’s sake don’t let them take your self-esteem away. When that happens there is very little hope left.

Now that I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to help my parents, I’ve realized that it’s time for me to spend some time on myself. I can’t reclaim the last year, so I’m going to spend the next year putting every iota of energy I have into getting away from them. I’ve often wondered why the phone in this house rarely rings. I’ve gone an entire week without hearing the phone ring. I realized today why it doesn’t ring; the people out there know who lives in here.

I’m now in my “Mid” Twenties. ACK!

As you get older, birthdays don’t mean as much. I think that’s both a good and bad thing.

The Good:

1. Do you really want to draw attention to the fact that you’re getting older?
2. After you hit 21, there are no more true milestones till 25.. and then all you get to do is rent a damned car.
3. Do you really want to think that hard about the future? Marriage… jobs… houses… cars… etc… PRESSURE!
4. No more birthday punches.

The Bad:

1. Birthday parties and exorbitant presents were pretty fucking cool.
2. It’s nice to be spoiled and pampered for 24 hours straight… especially when your birthday is nowhere near Christmas season… where you can also potentially get pampered.
3. Birthday Rights: “We’re gonna do it MY way cause it’s my BIRTHDAY!”
4. Birthday punches (for the punch-ers… not the punch-ees)… nothing like a quasi-formal reason to wail on your friend for all the little things they did to piss you the hell off.

**SIGH**

So glad it’s over. Gotta go take my Geritol. G’nite.