It's My Birthday

If I weren't lying in bed surrounded by a sea of used tissues, I'd be dancing.
If it weren't 3am and my head is so stuffed up that I can't see straight, I'd be eating cake.
If Lucien weren't sick too and hadn't decided not to visit me, I'd be receiving a big bunch of flowers.
If it weren't my birthday, I'd have no reason to feel disappointed for circumstances being so unfavourable.

But it is my birthday. Paul just ditched me on MSN, I suppose he can't help a used-up laptop battery. I can hear Raj and the Neanderthal snoring in their respective rooms along with traffic on Sydney Road. The city really does never sleep..

It's kind of gutting to think about it, but I just realised that never have I had a birthday before where I have been -
a) away from my family, and stuck in a horrid place full of neanderthals
b) completely isolated from my friends
c) feverish, sniffly, sore throated and generally blah
d) feeling like I'd rather be in Molvanîa

In a previous post, I outlined my 'miserable' birthday - involving a pajama party, Thai food, movies and generally relaxing and pampering myself. Even that, which I dreamed up as the most Bridget Jones thing ever, would be better than this. Lying in bed away from everybody and feeling like an utter mankfest.

Meh. This sucks. There probably won't be another post here for a few days at least.. not a happy girl.

I will leave you with my most favourite poem in the entire world. It is of a fictional poet, and it serves as the introduction of my favourite book, The Great Gatsby.

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;
if you can bounce high, bounce for her too,
Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,
I must have you!"
- Thomas Parke D'Invilliers