Or maybe I will yell at Noah then stomp out of our bedroom after calling him an asshole. That’s an alternative to sleep and cuddling. I’m still very upset about my birthday. Through my whole childhood I told myself that it wouldn’t always be this way. I wouldn’t always feel rejected and unloved and shitty on my birthdays. I told myself it would get better. I lied. Or I was just wrong. Either way.

I should probably stop doing things for Noah’s birthday. It increases my bitterness that I don’t matter as much to him. But that makes me feel really sad. I think I will need to go away for my birthday so that I don’t spend the day crying and calling him names. I’m so tired of not mattering.

He wanted to know what he could do to make me feel important. I ranted about how he could read the fucking book I already fucking wrote that tells him step by fucking step what will make me feel important you fucking asshole. I hear it isn’t ok to call people names. I should be more polite and civilized. More kind. More understanding.

It’s my fucking birthday. I work so hard. I try so hard. Naw. It’s not my birthday. My birthday was ten days ago. I need to stop bringing up old stuff.