Happy birthday

As the Vatican is to a Pope, so Facebook is to me. I feel at home on Facebook. I far prefer the written version of myself to the physical one and I spend far too much of my time on Facebook, obsessing about One Direction, being “witty” and occasionally being grouchy and opinionated.

I genuinely worry when I go twenty-four hours without updating my status, fearing that I have been drained of creativity. Sometimes I forget that the three or four friends I have who don’t use Facebook exist. And I measure my self-esteem in the number of “likes” I get.

A birthday is a wonderful day on Facebook. So many messages, so many likes, so many people. It’s the one day in the year when Facebook gives as much as it gets.

Even though I didn’t really want to have a big celebration this year, due to my birthday-party-related meltdown last weekend, I still absolutely love birthdays. A whole day, devoted to me. I know that not everyone is the attention-whore that I am, but I can’t understand not loving your birthday. Presents, people singing to me, hugs, cards, and love.

I spent the entire walk in to college answering all my lovely birthday text messages and Facebook messages. I arrived in to college to find cards and presents. Then I was fed birthday cake and jelly beans. I was taken for lunch. And then I was taken for dinner. More money was spent on feeding me today than was spent on getting Neil Armstrong to the Moon.

At the end of the day, with love in my belly and in my heart, I got home and into my lovely flat. I really do love this flat, but tonight I felt pangs. Tonight is one of those nights when I miss my kitchen full of Boys from last year.

I want to come home to someone. And I’m going to have to start leaving a chink open in my armour and let someone in soon, before I become entirely undateable. You’ve read it here first. I refuse to be alone for much longer. You heard me, Universe.

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