"'Cause it's my birthday/And I wanna get fucked like it's the first time/Like it's the first time"
Today is my birthday. The last year of my 20's. Every birthday, I'm reminded of the beautiful short story, "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros:
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one.
and I will be 24. This whole week has felt weird and awkward, like I'm in-between ages (which I am). I feel kind of indifferent about my inevitably soon birthday. I'm not yet fearing that I'm "too old" and I'm also not self-conscious about being "too young." Birthdays don't mean much to me anymore. They were much more fun when I was little. Sometimes I wish I were small again and didn't have to deal with "adult" things. Author Sandra Cisneros has a short story, "Eleven," about birthdays that I always think about when mine comes along. She says that we are not only our current age, but all the ages beneath as well.