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« on: November 06, 2016, 11:09:39 AM »
What a depressing night, I thought. The year was 1990. I had just turned twenty years old two weeks ago. I never really did anything for my birthday. In fact, I barely cared about them at all. My birthday was just another day in the infinite amount of days. Everyone had a birthday. There’s a birthday every minute, of every hour, between all the people living on the planet. What would be so special about my birthday in particular? To everyone else who was not aware of my birthday, it was just another day. My parents didn’t exactly share my odd philosophy on this, but that didn’t matter. They could celebrate each other's birthdays as dutifully as they wanted. It didn’t bother me. I just liked to keep things as simple as I could. I had always been that way, and nothing was going to change it.