These people sat at a table uncomfortably close to ours at my birthday dinner. They told a lot of stories that would have actually been tragic if they were poor, but since they obviously weren’t, everything turned out OK. They didn’t know that when they were telling the stories, which seemed to me to be the most depressing part.
It hasn’t been a great day for me. I thought life was improving, but birthdays always make me realize I have forgotten how to make friends. I don’t remember the last new friend I made.
I never have anyone to call and say, hey, let’s go do something. I am glad for my husband, but one person is not enough. Every year I feel this way. It doesn’t change. I just want it to change.
I wasn’t going to be depressed this year. Then the car broke badly, and I realized you can never get ahead in this society. Or maybe I can’t.I don’t know anymore.