It has been a good nine days since my first and last blog post. First of all I would like to apologise for the extreme suspense I may or may not have caused those who have waited avidly for my next post. In my defense, the apparent success of my last post did not fill me to the brim with confidence in the next one – if anything, I had the internet equivalent of stage fright.
Last week I wasted hours of my life staring at the blank textbox on WordPress, convinced that after one vaguely entertaining post, all the rest would be a complete disappointment to whichever facebook friends/bloggers had enjoyed the first and were eagerly anticipating the next. I had also bypassed my not-very-short topic list and was waiting impatiently for something to happen that would be interesting enough to blog about. Which is why I am beginning to realise what a convenient time I chose to be only a few hours away from turning twenty.
In my limited experience, birthdays often mean social occasions. I have a love-hate relationship with social occasions, and continually like to think I am not the only person who believes that a successful one does not require alcohol. If there are others of you out there who share this belief, then I sincerely take my hat off to you. If not, then hey, it’s good to be different. As a small child with no social inhibitions whatsoever, I was quite a fan of birthday parties. The first one I can remember is my fourth. Whilst I still remember the food, music and general party atmosphere, I was unaware until today that it was that day that my mum learnt of my dad’s commitment issues.* But I digress.
Years later, I quickly grew tired of always being pushed to the back of the line when queueing for food or assembling for team games at other children’s parties. So to me it seemed perfectly logical, one year, to stick a sign on the living room door saying “me first because it’s my party”. In my weird autistic brain, it would be immediately obvious to every one of my guests what I was on about, and when queueing or assembling, they would defer to me without a doubt. Whether they actually did or not, I can’t remember. Probably no bad thing.
My eleventh birthday, as previously mentioned, saw me in Auckland, New Zealand, thanks to a work-related trip of my stepdad’s. You know you’re suffering from jetlag of the worst kind when not even the most chocolatey birthday cake is enough to keep you awake. New Zealand, by the way, is an amazing country. If you like peace and quiet, mountains and whalewatching-induced seasickness, then you should definitely go. However, if you have a birthday while there, do try and time it so that you are not falling asleep in your chair before 5:00pm. Trust me.
My last two birthday parties were basically social gatherings for the Christian youth group I was a member of at the time, CYFA.** This was my mum’s idea, and with the help of pizza, pancakes, cats and Just Dance, nothing could, or did, go wrong. The only downside to inviting so many people over was my inability to deal with being in the limelight without being forcibly dragged, the stress of not knowing who to invite and generally feeling a tad claustrophobic. On thinking about my twentieth, I decided that big parties aren’t really my cup of tea, and so have settled for chilling out with a couple of close friends. In fact, this birthday has already promised to be interesting, as amazon are apparently taking their time, meaning that many of my presents will probably arrive next week. C’est la vie.
Happy nearly-St Patrick’s Day!
*she gave me permission to mention this
**Christian Youth Fellowship Association