Yesterday, I woke up next to my amazing girlfriend, K, and went to breakfast with her and a mutual friend. We ate at Louis' on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. This tiny diner has the same views as the venerable and historic (read: out of my league) Cliff House, but with prices and foods that accommodate my wallet and simple palate.
Breakfast was nice. I enjoyed the conversation, and studied the seemingly infinite horizon as it stretched for miles past my vantage point at the edge of the Earth.
Afterwards, K and A headed out for work, and I faced the responsibility of studying for my impending finals. I made a feeble effort, but found that I just couldn't hang. In order to dodge the particular responsibility of studying without feeling too guilty, I set about to cleaning my room. Cleaning my room is at least productive, and thus a justifiable substitute for forgoing my studies.
The day passed slowly. When evening came about, I picked up K from work and went to her house until it was time to meet my family at my favorite restaurant. I opened a couple of gifts to pass the time; A hooked me up with a Lillingtons album. This band is great. I've listened to it nearly 10 times already. K presented me with the gift that she'd been struggling to keep a secret for the past couple of weeks. K hates waiting for surprises. It's cute.
Prior to the actual presentation of the gift, she'd let on that it was something special, something that I'd never ask for. She was right. K purchased a painting for me that I'd had my heart set on ever since seeing it hanging in its show. K told me that when I returned to admire the painting for a second time, it was easy to read the disappointment in my expression when I saw that the painting had already marked as sold. Little did I know who it was sold to.
After opening my wonderful gifts, we converged upon Gaspare's on Geary and 20th. Gaspare's has hosted roughly 20 of my 27 birthday dinners, and has been a reliable setting for countless other celebratory meals. With my family around me, I enjoyed a fantastic meal at my favorite restaurant. We left Gaspare's and headed back to my apartment for coffee and cake. My mom made my favorite cake. It's the same cake that she made for my dad when they were young, and living 15 blocks down the street from my apartment.While my family talked with K, I took a phone call from my out of state grandparents, and a cousin and aunt. It was nice talking to them, and it always strikes me as strange that they live so far away now. We used to live within an hour of each other.
After a while, my parents left, and I took K back to her apartment.
So, going back to what I said at the beginning... why are birthdays so depressing? With all the wonderful people I'm surrounded by, how is it that I end up wasting away into the early morning hours feeling so empty and alone? I don't think I've ever been honest enough to admit to the completely consumptive feeling of loneliness that has metastasized within me.
I've been given everything, and yet I still struggle. I think a lot of people do.
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