I feel okay. Sad but okay. I’ve been working on a new afghan. I’ve been busy at work.
Friday’s my birthday. It’s become a source of annoyance. My parents asked me what I wanted and I told them I thought they weren’t doing birthdays anymore, since they didn’t get me anything last year.
Which, I mean, they didn’t. And I don’t mind. Well, that’s not quite right. I don’t need anything, but it did and does hurt my feelings when they call to tell me all the ways they’re helping my brothers and yet I don’t even get a birthday present.
But also, whatever. I’ve accepted that as long as they think I’m fine, they don’t think much about me.
But now it’s turned into this whole big to-do where they insist they did too get me a birthday present last year. And finally, I was like, folks, check your bank records.
So, last night they called to say that they had, indeed, apparently forgotten my birthday last year, but it’s because they were so busy with the Butcher and helping him get out to Arizona.
And, honestly, the conversations about this have been much more painful than them just forgetting.
Because, of course, I was wrong, then when I wasn’t wrong, well, it was understandable, because some other person needed their attention more.
And no apology.
Though, clearly, from all the phone calls, they do feel bad. But instead of just saying they’re sorry, their coping mechanism appears to be to try to make me feel bad instead.
But whatever. I don’t have the bandwidth to feel bad. I just worked on my granny squares and “uh-huh”ed them until the conversation was over.