Headed for Thirty-two

As I dragged my aching, coughing, barely-functional body back and forth from the library Friday while my classes were doing credit checks, I noticed that the teachers downstairs have already put up Valentine's Day bulletin boards. Although usually I am the first teacher on board the overboard holiday decor train, there is not one scrap of pink or red anywhere near my door yet, nor will there be for at least a few more days. You see, as we get closer to the day of the stupid blind flying infant we also get closer to the anniversary of my thirty-second year on this earth.

I have heard all sorts of people complain about having their birthdays coupled with a major holiday. I have relatives and friends whose birthdays get lost in the shuffle with Christmas and Thanksgiving. I put forth to them, however, that there is no double-whammy as crappy as the one barreling down on me in less than four weeks. Soon, every place I look will be festooned with a nauseating amount of red, pink, lace, glitter, and reminders that roses, candy, and affection will rain down from the heavens all around me, sort of a reverse Charlie Brown black rain cloud effect. Only in my little spot will it be dry. Add to this, then, the merry nudge from Father Time that another year has come and gone, and you've got a recipe fit for all sorts of glee.

I wish I could build a sort of bunker somewhere and just hide out in it from New Year's Eve until the end of February. Every person I know has "big plans" to treat their special someone well (more power to them), or somehow miraculously manages to dig up a special someone for the duration of the holidays. I'd settle for a good friend to go to dinner with. It's not even safe to go to the store to buy groceries. One has to run the gauntlet through aisles filled to the top of twenty-foot ceilings with giant stuffed animals, overly-cute knickknacks, and chocolate, the soul salve of lonely like me.

Just for once, just for once, I'd like to be able to look forward to my birthday. I'd like to have a great guy, or at least a great guyfriend, and be going to do something interesting. I don't want diamonds and pearls. I don't expect a man to break the bank with roses and trinkets. Oh how wonderful it would be, though, if thirty-two didn't have to loom in the distance a monolith carved out of black stone.....