Prompt: The night of your 21st birthday.
No clue. I pulled out my calendar from 1987 (yes, I’ve kept every one). But this was just a calendar, not a journal. I didn’t keep journals. I’ve only started writing morning pages since doing The Artist’s Way for the second time. So, for a little over a year.
For June 21, 1987, my calendar says: My 21st birthday and Millie’s!! Got turntable from Dad, shirt from A, earrings from M, books (kids), mug from A—.
If I went out drinking – which I doubt – it was not recorded. A very boring night. My birthday fell on a Sunday that year. I was still dating a psychopath (the one who gave me the mug) and living in a studio apartment across from a hospital in the Fan. The following day, the 22nd, I had a birthday dinner with my mom at Hunan East, and then the day after that, the psychopath took me to dinner for my birthday. Same restaurant.
I recorded cards and letters I received, calls I made or received, but no details. No excitement. My birthday twin had been to visit the week before so I’m betting my actual birthday was a bit of a let down after that.
I’m feeling a bit of a post-fun let down today though it was nice to sleep in my own bed with no flopping, coughing eleven-year-old in it. We had a great time in NC with great friends. Dusty had a good birthday. We shopped in Southern Pines – a beautiful little town with interesting shops – and then drove down to South of the Border. My pre-written post for that day mentions the beach but we didn’t end up doing that. We all slept in and got a late start to the day. Dusty’s birthday cake featured Minions – her most hated characters – and read “Happy Bar Mitzvah, Marie!” Multi-layered joke.
And now I’m doing laundry and Red and I will venture out in the rain to get groceries in a bit. And I’ll get ready for real life again. Another Sunday. About as exciting as the Sunday I turned 21.