Thursday, 16 February 2012


It's my birthday in a few days.

The original plan was something at my grandma's because her birthday is around now and there are several other birthdays in the family. Related to that, two of my cousins planned to go skiing for a few days after the party at gran's.

See? Nothing speshul for me. The best birthday I ever had was a few years ago in Italy when I bought an almond cake in Ikea and ate it whole. Alone. (I was probably sick afterwards but that doesn't really matter.)

Today, mom announced that (a) one cousin is coming tomorrow and staying only until Sunday, leaving only her son behind with some friends who will be up in the mountains (b) another cousin is coming for grandma's birthday lunch, leaving his son with us (c) on Friday I'm having a birthday party (d) she already ordered a cake. Chocolate cake. (e) And we're going to the mountains sans cousins.

All that's missing is a bouquet of anthurias, those horrid phallic-vulvoid blossoms that are, for some reason that entirely eludes me, considered a luxurious treat in the bouquet realm, or anything in yellow. To prevent this, I went to drop some overdue books at the library and another cousin (I have many) runs a florist shop. I planned a chitchat with her, an order for a bouquet of carnations but she wasn't there. I came back to the office on the verge of tears (again).

I love carnations and I never get any, for some reason, they are considered cheap. They're great in winter, they don't wilt too fast like roses do. L. did have some in the shop but I didn't feel like talking to some other lady... the plan was to order a bouquet and let dad pick it.

Anyway. I don't want to go to the mountains and mom needed to do some hardcore persuading; I decided to go because she wanted to and she wouldn't go alone and because the cousins were supposed to be there. Remember, I didn't want to go in first place so the idea of my mom's rather focused attention freaks me out. I'm not good with preteen boys the cousins intend to drop at us. I don't want to go skiing. I don't want to go out until it's spring. I don't want to talk to people. I want to sit, read and knit my birthday yarn.

Neither do I want a birthday party. No chocolate cake; or, yes, chocolate cake, absolutely, but this is sheet cake with some ganache and whipped cream, not the real thing that starts by melting 300 grams of chocolatey goodness.

Yes. Sheet cake, made of wheat flour and stuff. Yes, I'm on gluten-free diet. Or, well, mostly gluten-free, I do transgress sometimes. I can have a bit of pasta without the consequent diarrhoea. Or a piece of cake. Not a bit of pasta and a piece of cake. Yes, I'm certain that mom didn't go to a gluten-free bakery as there is no installment I'd know about which could provide a gluten-free cake. Mom doesn't believe in my gluten problem thingy because she doesn't notice the aftermath, she only sees me nibbling on a small piece of bread or a bit of pasta.

Also, I told mom that I want to bake my birthday cake. Which was, it seems, graciously ignored.

Now I'm torn. I absolutely don't want to go anywhere but I don't have stuff to bake from scrap at home. Just the idea of going to the grocery makes me cringe, in fact, I'd gladly curl under my table. I don't feel like baking. Nobody will appreciate it anyway. I don't feel like getting a cake anyway.

Hey, I just want to be left alone. Since it's not too possible, why the universe messes it up with that goddamn cake?

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