Train wrecks, I need to vent.
Why oh why did I ever think my family would actually do something for me for my birthday? Every birthday, mother’s day, Christmas, anniversary I wind up buying my own gift.
I thought dropping the hint that Grady Hendrix was on tour would have prompted someone to look up the details. Nope. That was me. Calling. Reserving. The whole deal.
I have Amazon wish lists that I’ve shared with my family. And today I’m told, “Get what you want.” What I want? What I want is a fraction of the thought I put into everyone else’s gifts. What I want is a surprise. What I want is to feel like someone thought about me. That’s what I want.
I know they love me. But sometimes it’s nice to open a package I didn’t order. To think someone thought enough of me to spend 5 minutes looking for a gift.
And maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I’m being a whiny brat. But damn. I have literally cried from stress hoping the gift I got someone was good enough.
Now, this doesn’t include my mama. Mama hooked me up with a case if pumpkin spice coffee and honey sticks. Like, I haven’t seen my mom in four years but she knows. Ya know? Like, I’m not a complicated creature. I’m actually fairly entertained.
And maybe I’m just a little disappointed in myself for having my hopes and expectations too high. I just wish I mattered enough to the people I love.
And that’s all I’ve got.