It was pretty much the same as any other Sunday; I went over to a friend's to prepare for the game, then played the game, then worked at the gas station for a couple of hours. It really didn't feel particularly special. Maybe I've reached an age where it just doesn't seem to matter anymore. No, that's really not true. I wanted it to be a special day, but it really wasn't. Overall, it was a little disappointing, but only because my expectations were unrealistic.
Of course, I can't really complain. I took off Friday as a special day to myself; my mom and John gave me a DVD burner and are going to help fix my car; we're celebrating at work on Thursday with pie, and I had a cheerful 'happy birthday!' on a post-it on my register tonight when I came into work. One friend had to be reminded that it was April 2nd, and from there it dawned on him and he wished me a happy birthday (and then took delight on my being 'a year' older than he (we're actually eight months apart, so come October we tie again). Another didn't forget; he just tends to give gifts on his own whims rather than because it's expected, so at some point in the future I'll get a birthday present when I least expect it. Those are the best kind. I guess in retrospect it wasn't really that bad after all.
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