I feel like I do a lot of belly-aching about stuff on my blog but you'd never know how sad I was if you knew me in person. A long time ago, after my grandparents died and I was having a rough time coping at work (and at home,) a concerned supervisor gave me one of those "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff....and it's all small stuff" books and a higher-up sent me a copy of one of those 'fake the fun and you'll start to have fun' popular books. It worked, I appreciated the gesture and I got the message "don't show your personal shit, it's annoying and unprofessional" and I've lived by it. I've also learned over the years that people don't care what's on my mind or how I feel, they want to talk about how they feel. And I've worked in an industry for years and years that caters to others' needs, not mine, so it's only compounded over time and turned me into some sort of weird privately-emotional, publicly-happy robot.
People like to be around happy people and seem to like to be around me and invite me to parties and such. But the conversation never gets much deeper than what we're eating, drinking or wearing or how great or horrible the last movie we saw was or general silliness. I'm the Queen of General Silliness. Inevitably, someone hits a rough patch, wants someone to talk to, I take the call and genuinely listen and care. But since the tables have turned and I find myself in a sad slump, there's no one there to take my call. I told a girlfriend a few weeks ago, "I'm embarrassed to say this out loud, because it's such a cliché for my age, but I'm really lonely and I'm really scared that I always will be." She made a joke, I said I was serious, I started to cry, she said that I needed to learn to love myself. She can fuck off. But, I thought, this is the wrong audience (she's unhappily married) so I need to talk to someone else. But then I got a joke from the happily married one about how much their dog loves me (he does) and too bad people would talk if I wed a three-year-old Boxer. That didn't make me feel any less pathetic.
I'm not even talking about marriage here, by the way, just companionship. Someone to go to a movie with. Someone to go out for breakfast with on Sunday mornings, someone to go to a baseball game with and maybe go on a hike or something. Someone to talk to and tell funny stories to and listen to as well. So I thought I'd talk to my best gay friend and his boyfriend, they'd have to understand! No. They thought I was talking about sex and when I clarified that that's not what I'm looking for, they were both dumbfounded and disbelieving. He said "So, basically, you just want a friend." I said "I guess so, but more like a friend who really likes me." And then he dropped a bomb and didn't even know it, he said "But you have friends, lots of friends." And that was the moment I realized I don't have a single true friend. And that's why I'm so lonely.
True, I'm lonely because I'm getting old, I'm not meeting people, my clock is ticking and all that, but I'm lonely because I have the world's worst friends. I can't remember the last time someone asked me to do something that didn't specifically benefit them. The nice husband of one of my girlfriends has a lot of single guy friends. I was at their house for dinner earlier this month and he said he should introduce me to some of his friends and see what happens. She said "No! Who will I hang out with if she gets involved with someone?! I'll never see her!" Before you comment, it has nothing to do with not wanting to introduce me to the wrong guy - she really, truly is that selfish. She meant what she said exactly as she said it. Don't take her toy away!
So, here I am, thirty-five. Single, sad, aging, unsupported, directionless. My mother forgot to mail my birthday present and said she was sorry it was going to be late. I said "Don't worry about it, it's late every year, I usually get it after July 4th, you're just keeping up the tradition." and she got mad and yelled at me. My brother forgot my birthday; my dad had to call and remind him, and he said my card was in the mail. My dad accidentally had my present shipped to his house instead of mine and he and my stepmom are traveling until the end of the summer, so I can drive the hour and a half to his empty house to pick up my birthday present. He was genuinely sorry but it just seems to be the way things go for me. Thank goodness for my little sister. What would we do without them?!? She was my birthday angel - she made sure my gift arrived on my actual birthday and made a big fuss over the phone. It made me think of a picture of the two of us on my 10th birthday: I had just gotten my dream bike that she somehow successfully kept secret for weeks. Looking at the picture, I can still hear her approaching on tip-toes, asking in her sweet voice "do you like your birthday bike, Meg?"
I didn't have any cards in the mail on Friday or Saturday or any day last week from any of my friends or family. The phone wasn't ringing and I had no text messages or e-mails. About a dozen or so people on Facebook did wish me a Happy Birthday, but I hardly know any of them. The day rolled around and my dance card was totally empty. No brunch, lunch or dinner invitations, no offers for dessert or cocktails. Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe birthdays aren't supposed to be celebrated after a certain age?
I didn't want to feel pitiful, so the afternoon of my birthday, I sucked it up and started calling around to see if anyone would go out to eat with me. There is a restaurant in Roswell, The Brookwood Grill, that I love and have loved for well over a decade and I know it's not the most sophisticated thing to crave, but all I wanted for my birthday was someone to go to my favorite restaurant with me and let me have the world's best chicken tenders (seriously, they really are amazing) and maybe some ice cream or coffee after. But I couldn't find a soul willing to come to my side of town. I had a few hesitant "can you meet us in midtown?" or "can you drive out to *insert far away suburb*?" and one, just one "sure, I can meet you for dinner but we have to go somewhere I can take my new dog" which relegated us to one patio at a quick service restaurant where I had soup and salad because that's all they have. Not even close to my birthday wish. At least I wasn't by myself, I guess. I wish I was the type who can eat alone in a restaurant. I just can't do it.
So, I went to Coldstone on my way home, bought a small birthday cake, and made at least half of my wish come true. I got in, called my little sister, cut a piece of cake for myself, opened my present over the phone with her and we laughed and laughed and I thought "well, that wasn't so bad, maybe it's just all about perspective; I had a great birthday with the best sister in the world even if it was just over the phone."
But the phone call ends, the house gets quiet, and I eventually become acutely aware of how alone I am. I started to feel sad about how uncelebrated I felt and I cried myself to sleep. Presents, schmesents, I really just wanted some chicken fingers, a little ice cream, a hug and someone to ask if I liked my birthday.
