It's my birthday week, so it's a lot easier to justify taking a few days off work. This is something I do regularly, jamming my work week into three days so that I feel panicked and resentful. This week, I'm not even going to punish myself for fucking watching some movies that I've been meaning to watch and gorging like the fat, disgusting pig that I am. It's okay. This is a milestone birthday. I'm fucking 30. I'm 30? I'm 30. Jesus.
Today, I woke up to a birthday text from my mom. She called me "precious baby girl," which I'm kind of into because I like coddling. It also makes me feel like a dog, which is funny. I bought myself one of those retro handheld emulators and another, more complicated miniature kit as presents.
I can't wait to play those shitty games I used to play as a kid. I guess I like nostalgia as much as the next person. I've spent the past few days downloading ROMs.
I've been spending a lot of time with my brother because he's on a self-improvement kick. I think one of his goals is to not shut us out, and he's doing a good job. We're trudging through Deep Space Nine, breezing through Voyager, and playing a lot of video games. I noticed that my hands feel pre-arthritic. I don't even know if that's a thing, but my hands just feel stiff, there's a dull ache in my knuckles, and my grip is bullshit. I'm 30. Of course, I'm not that upset because I don't feel much of anything.
The boys still haven't made up. This has been going on for a while, and it's hard to keep them separate. My brother suggested that we hire a dog whisperer.