1/20/06 3:11 AM: "Once again, it's on ..."

As I started to write this year's Birthday Statement, I looked back at the ones from years past (I did three named "Older," and one was tucked in a set of bloglets that ... well, actually resemble what I do on MySpace now). Lessee ... miserable, really miserable, okay but pessimistic, delighted but still kinda pessimistic. That's kind of the way the four pieces of writing go.

This year? Still delighted, for the most part. Not pessimistic anymore, more like indifferent due to numbness (which some nay-sayers will still insist is bad, whereas I've always followed that "happiness is merely the remission of pain"). I still have very little stress in my life (a long distance drama gave me some for a while, and I'm still recovering, plus the fun of taking on another man's life in part, which was no easy feat while still living my own). I'm still very productive -- I managed to get my first novel published last year (about five months later than I expected, but whatever).

What's different is the nature of my solitude. The last two birthdays, I could count on ending up in the arms of a beautiful woman who was really into me. The most immediate birthdays before that had a beautiful woman who was at least willing to get naked and get on top of me for a while (I dissemble -- she was into me for a while). This year?

Chirp, and chirp, as the crickets would say.

Sure, I missed a lot of my friends before -- being one of the very few unmarried/kidless people means it's a lot harder to hang with my closest friends and family. But those things are easy to ignore when you're naked and rolling around.

This is not to say that sex is out of the question (like some of my friends would imply in their own cases). I could find some poor schmuck to have sex with, sure. But (and this is the weird part about maturity), for my birthday it was always sex with somebody I already liked, somebody who I could have a basic conversation with and not feel any urge towards homicide due to insipid ideas or inane prattle (you'd be shocked how many homicidal urges I shove back down from stupid people talking to me). So that's new.

It might be a good thing, I dunno. New experiences. I'm not mad about it. Strangely enough, I'm not mad about much of anything, and I can't remember a time recently when I really was. Sure, I get flares of road rage, and I've had some very negative dating experiences in the last year. But they were flashes -- gone in a day at most, gone in seconds in the overwhelming majority of the cases.

I've lost count at how many times I've just kind of reveled in my freedom and glee, dancing alone in my apartment. It's a fun surprise. I stood in the wonderful stream of hot water from my new WaterPik shower head, thinking about my recently fixed sink, and remarked at how much I enjoyed such simple pleasures. Two people threw more than a hundred bucks at me (all totaled) because they thought I could use it -- people that I barely know, one of whom I've never even seen in real life, nor heard his voice. If I had a dime for every time I stood in some bar, singing a song and really feeling like all the spirit energy in the world were flowing through my body, this year alone, I'd surely have more than twenty bucks. Or how many times I've sat, listening to some friend talking, and remarked to myself, "you know, this guy/gal (depending on the situation) is really all right, I'm glad to be friends with them!"

More importantly with the last, I've made an effort to say that to people, to recognize their importance -- no matter how transitory -- in my life. It's awkward sometimes, but if there is any single theme to my life that's relevant -- more than hatred, more than disappointment, more than indifference or lust or mocking laughter at the weak or anything else -- it's that I am grateful. As Kevin Spacey said in American Beauty, "I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

Yeah. It truly is a golden age to be me, and I can't ever forget that. Sometimes -- when I've got a line of anxious drunks nagging me to ask when they're singing, or after some incandescent sister simply drifts away from me -- I have to keep reminding myself of that. Because the little stuff can distract me. Ooh, shiny! The big picture, however, is so much more important.

I'm on track (mostly). I'm free (a lot of the time). I'm happy (predominantly). A little isolation is a small price to pay for all of that. So yeah, happy birthday to me, one more time around the sun.