aaarrrrrrgh
Jun. 14th, 2004 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
verbicideI am a complete, dribbling arsehole.
Just realized, via emailed hurt hint, that I forgot Amy's fucking 30th fucking birthday.
*kills self*
It was June 1st. Could there be an easier fucking birthday to remember? I've only forgotten once before in the history of our friendship, and Amy is beyond tolerant of my early-onset-Alzheimer’s. I forget everyone's birthday. I really don't mean to. I really don't want to forget. I write these things down on calendars, and stick post-its in obvious places, but then I get used to the post-its and forget to turn my fucking calendar pages. And very often I forget what the fucking date is unless I have to make an appt or something.
Amy never forgets birthdays. She always remembers to mail cards on time. She finishes her Christmas shopping before a bite of Thanksgiving turkey passes her lips. She's very organized. She was very much Felix to my Oscar the five years we lived together. I make an effort to remember her birthday, I swear I do. Amy, Judy and my immediate family are the six people I bend over backwards not to forget, because they never ever forget to make a fuss over my annual decay. I constantly forget my aunts and my cousins and don't think I've ever remembered to call my sister-in-laws on the right date. Other friends--I aim for calling them during the right week.
While no excuse is good enough, things were particularly hellacious and frantic the few days before her birthday. I totally remembered her birthday up until May 27th. I was making a note to buy her a damn gift, and then everything was bad and I was struggling to finish my final fucking projects, apply for a job deadline, not piss off the passport office, find money for gas/food and trying very hard to not kill myself first thing in the morning after 3 hours of distressed sleep.
I called immediately, brimming with mea culpas. Amy knows I love her. She knows I'd give her an internal organ if she needed it. She knows that I feel worse about forgetting her birthday than she does. Having lived with me for five years she knows my intentions are good, but that I'm prone to absent-minded bugfuckery. She forgives me. In some small way I know she thinks it's funny (though probably not on June 1st when she's hurt that I haven't called by the end of the day).
But god. I feel absolutely rotten and about 2 feet tall. I wish I had money because I would ...buy her a pony or something. As it is, she did get an email 2 days after her birthday from me, an impersonal group email with my flight schedule. The one thing I frantically did try to accomplish in those hellish days was buying my ticket to SF to visit her over July 1st as I had promised.
Excuse me, I have to go kill myself now. *hangs head in shame*
Just realized, via emailed hurt hint, that I forgot Amy's fucking 30th fucking birthday.
*kills self*
It was June 1st. Could there be an easier fucking birthday to remember? I've only forgotten once before in the history of our friendship, and Amy is beyond tolerant of my early-onset-Alzheimer’s. I forget everyone's birthday. I really don't mean to. I really don't want to forget. I write these things down on calendars, and stick post-its in obvious places, but then I get used to the post-its and forget to turn my fucking calendar pages. And very often I forget what the fucking date is unless I have to make an appt or something.
Amy never forgets birthdays. She always remembers to mail cards on time. She finishes her Christmas shopping before a bite of Thanksgiving turkey passes her lips. She's very organized. She was very much Felix to my Oscar the five years we lived together. I make an effort to remember her birthday, I swear I do. Amy, Judy and my immediate family are the six people I bend over backwards not to forget, because they never ever forget to make a fuss over my annual decay. I constantly forget my aunts and my cousins and don't think I've ever remembered to call my sister-in-laws on the right date. Other friends--I aim for calling them during the right week.
While no excuse is good enough, things were particularly hellacious and frantic the few days before her birthday. I totally remembered her birthday up until May 27th. I was making a note to buy her a damn gift, and then everything was bad and I was struggling to finish my final fucking projects, apply for a job deadline, not piss off the passport office, find money for gas/food and trying very hard to not kill myself first thing in the morning after 3 hours of distressed sleep.
I called immediately, brimming with mea culpas. Amy knows I love her. She knows I'd give her an internal organ if she needed it. She knows that I feel worse about forgetting her birthday than she does. Having lived with me for five years she knows my intentions are good, but that I'm prone to absent-minded bugfuckery. She forgives me. In some small way I know she thinks it's funny (though probably not on June 1st when she's hurt that I haven't called by the end of the day).
But god. I feel absolutely rotten and about 2 feet tall. I wish I had money because I would ...buy her a pony or something. As it is, she did get an email 2 days after her birthday from me, an impersonal group email with my flight schedule. The one thing I frantically did try to accomplish in those hellish days was buying my ticket to SF to visit her over July 1st as I had promised.
Excuse me, I have to go kill myself now. *hangs head in shame*
