I could throw up.

I might.

I am warning you now, that my birthday blues bring out the bery worst of my self-indulgence.

The way I feel today reminds me of my college graduation. When it was an ok day, nothing really wrong, all family there, people congratulating, friends and parties.

But there was something clearly missing.

I knew it would be missing. I knew he wouldn't come. I wanted him to come, he was one of the most important people to me. I needed him to come. I hoped he would come, but I knew he wouldn't come.

That hope is the very worst sort of hope, the kind that, even before it dies a slow and agonizing death, hour at a time, you know it is doomed. And even though you know, know in the core of that pit in your stomach, that anxious and guilty and nervous feeling that mucks up a feeling that is supposed to be positive, know that it will die, you just can't kill it.

And so, you go on, hoping. And he doesn't come.

It is an asshole, feels like one anyway.