It's my birthday today and I don't know if I'll have another one. None of us does, so I started my new and possibly last year by ordering a book from Amazon. I saw a quote from it HERE and hasten to recommend both the website and in all probability the book, which has only been downloaded for 3 minutes as I write this, so is as yet unexplored.
I've been going through a strange time. Writing a book containing romantic love, I realized that I did not really get my share. I feel I am projecting elements I did not myself experience into people I invented and do not - cannot - identify with myself. So I get quite a kick out of projecting fictional feelings and ideas on these two fictional, nice people. They exist for me. All the characters in my book exist. I don't like them all and have even killed off particularly unliked persons, who strangely enough are often caricatures of people I did or do not like in real life. I've no idea if anyone will ever read this new book (or any of the others!), but it is of no consequence. The books seem to be taking me through a period of catharsis. I am forgiving myself for not having luck in my partnerships and relationships.
At the moment, my book is undergoing scrutiny and revision, again by me, though an editor would have been useful. I'm trying to spot the irregularities. It's not easy. I can't always get enough perspective to make the right judgements, and then I realize that that is a characteristic of my whole personality and I will have to live with it and stop fighting it ineffectually..
So today is the beginning of the rest of my life, be it long or short. Companionship and comfort seem only to be available to me in a second-hand process. I paint flowers that exist as photos or in vases, arrange songs that existed, sometimes even before I was born, and write words that existed as long as anyone started to express thought. But there is a difference between these activities. In writing, I can actually still project something original. Whether that is worth the bother is something I don't have to decide, any more than I can decide if today is the last time I celebrate the day of my birth. I'm not even sure that my birthday wasn't yesterday. My father registered me after 42 days - only just in time to comply with legal requirements. The time he gave was 20-30 minutes after midnight. If he had wanted to, he could have given the 10th of the 10th month. No one would have argued or even known better and I quite like the date, so I really celebrate on the tenth and am not emotionally tied to the 11th. Maybe I was born on the 10th. Maybe my father wanted to give me an extra day on this earth. I will never know.
I'll take my cake out of the oven now. Yes, I bake cakes and do all the 'normal' birthday things people in groups do, even if I celebrate alone, which is likely. If anyone comes, they can share the cake with me. If no one comes, I'll eat some of it and freeze the rest for rainy days.
Happy Birthday, Faith, and many more to come... (up to now, no one has actually said that today!)