In 10 minutes, two of my favorite friends will arrive at my house and off we shall go to meet up with additional fabulous friends for a quick happy hour drink and a movie. The movie? Rachel Getting Married. Or Rachel Gets Married. Or something like that. I've never even heard of it. But do I care? No. Because? Movie night with the girls! Yay!
I'm all, yay!, now, but a couple of hours ago I was so not yay. I was more like boo! hiss! bah! humbug! Because? I'm turning into a very cranky old lady. And when I thought of myself as a cranky old lady, I realized that my birthday is next week. And I am wondering if that is part of my current funk. Consciously? I do not care about my birthday. I don't really care about turning 43. 43 seems no worse than 42, frankly, or even 40 or 38. My big trauma birthday was 28. I was miserable at turning 28. The transition from early 20's to older than early 20's was too much for my fragile psyche to handle. But since then, I haven't really consciously stressed about birthdays. But as I search for the root of my "issues" of late, I'm ready to grasp any straw. Because I can't fix what's broke until I figure out what's broke. And all I know right now is I am broken.
Maybe a martini and a movie will be the cure? I kind of think it'll be more like a Band-aid. But I'll take what I can get.