Last year I had Estranged that told me why I could not be blue. Only 28 and I was much too young to let love break my heart.
Time was I’d start getting excited about my birthday the moment we entered a New year – just 5 months and so bleddy much to do! Select a colour, plan the look for the day, buy gifts for myself, budget so I would be a little less than broke on the D-Day. Go to work if I loved my colleagues else take an off for three days. One to prepare; the other to celebrate; the last to recuperate.
There were so many things to be grateful for! So many people to enjoy!
And now again, they tell me I have to do things for my birthday.
So while the heart behaved just fine last year, the pain travelled all over my joints, played havoc with my hormones, and left me big, bulging, and broken.
And now it’s to be a birthday again. They want me to buy clothes, plan a party.
At 29 there will be no defense. No song to sing; just that ceaseless chant I’ve always heard at the back of my mind.
Blue funk, blue funk, blue funk.