It’s hard to write when your life is an endless circle of the same damn thing, the same boring damn thing.

The clock is getting ready to hit 7AM, I’ve been up all night, again, and I’m in a bad mood, wishing this month would hurry up and get me to 31 years old. It’s not the age that’s depressing me. 31 really isn’t much different than 30, still far enough away from 40 that I don’t have to think about it.

It’s the day. The birthday. Even though, I’m supposed to be going out of town for it (My sister, Katie, is getting a room for me, at an International Dart Tournament for the weekend.) I’m still down. This birthday will be like the last few have been, lonely, pitiful, feeling sorry for myself.

What’s really sad is, I shouldn’t be. I’m old enough to accept that, finances being the way they are, birthday gifts aren’t happening, again. I’m trying to be mature and accepting of it but, I hate that my birthday is normally spend down and depressed, even when I try not to be.

Even worse, is normally Tracey (The Hussie as you see time to time in comments here) and I normally get together to celebrate. Her birthday is the 14th (Happy Birthday Old Ass) so, we have tried to have a joint thing. It isn’t happening this year, so I’m even sadder.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, by my birthday, I’ll have sucked it up and put on the happy smiley face for everyone. I’ll have a few drinks, be silly, and pretend that it doesn’t suck to have the same money issues facing us, year after year, yet inside I’ll still feel it.

31 and no closer to a the place I want to be, the life I wanted, the family, everything. Yet, the lack of a few packages to open makes it even worse. Materialistic? Yeah, I guess so. But, I also know that in the past year, I have literally bought 3 books, total, 1 CD, and that’s it for myself. No clothes, no jewelry, no new makeup or purses. No craft stuff, no sewing stuff.

Ah, well, what can you do? You suck it up and move on, still hoping that someday things will change or a magical money bag will drop from the sky.

And you whine for a bit in your journal, as really, sometimes I just need to whine. Tomorrow will be a better day,