birthday party

I am celebrating my 32nd birthday tonight. It's just me and Oprah Winfrey and a bottle of eight dollar White Zinfandel. Mom wanted me to come over to her place. I called her when I got home and told her it was just going to be me and Oprah Winfrey and the wine. I told her I didn't want to smell cigarette smoke on my birthday. I told her I just wanted a quiet night to myself.

"Every one of your nights is a quiet night," she said. "And we can sit on the back porch if cigarettes offend you so much."

"I can still smell it," I said. "And not every one of my nights is a quiet night."

"I disagree," she said. "Your life is very plain, very boring."

I didn't say anything back. Oprah Winfrey was meowing because it was past her dinner time. I got home late because I stopped by CVS to get the White Zinfandel.

"Is that your cat?" my mom said. "Why is she always making noise?"

I wanted to tell her that it was because Oprah Winfrey loved me and loved to talk to me. I wanted to tell her that Oprah Winfrey was my best friend, my confidant. But, I didn't.

"She's just hungry," I said. "She's a growing girl."

failing

I am much too hung up on the fact that I will never be a success at anything. I am much too good at starting something and never finishing it. Yesterday, I attempted to build a snowman and failed. I could not form a solid base. I tried. I even brought a bucket of water into the yard to help pack the snow together. I worked at it for two hours. I only stopped once to use the bathroom. I failed. I failed miserably. I did not build a snowman. I did not come close. As soon as the base would get to the size I was looking for, it would crumble. It would break into a hundered pieces, or a million. All I coud do was sigh and say,"All of my ideas are bad ideas." All I could do was hang my head.

C. Binton