*pay no real attention to this rambling mess.  It's been one of those days, and I feel dull and boring.*

Today was pretty much a typical summer Thursday: I did so many loads of laundry that my hands permanently smell like fabric softener, did the dishes, went grocery shopping, filled the truck up with gas, etc. etc.  It was pretty much exactly like every Thursday for the last seven or eight years.  As a matter of fact, it was damn close to every day in my universe.

 Nothing changes.  The laundry gets done, the house gets cleaned, and I still bitch about my husband's passive-aggressive habit of walking past the garbage can in the kitchen to put his paper plate or beer bottle on the counter for me to throw away.

 In the middle of my stupefyingly dull routine, my best (local) friend stopped by for just a couple of minutes, and she said something very odd.  It stopped me dead in my tracks.

 She said, "Isn't Saturday your birthday?"

 I actually had to think about it, but she's right - it is.  I'd forgotten.

I'll probably receive a check from my mom in the next day or so.  Bless her, she sends one every single year without fail.  If not for the check, and for best-buddy's question, my birthday would have passed completely by me, and I wouldn't have even realized it.

It's not like my husband will actually get me anything.  He never has, not in fifteen years.  He won't even say "happy birthday" unless I make a it a point to look him straight in the eye, and say, "today is my birthday."  Then he says it because if he didn't, he'd have to face the fact that he's an ass.

So....another year older, and I don't even care.  What happened to all the stuff I used to look forward to?

*sigh*