I’m in a funk today. Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 66 years old. I had planned to post a birthday tribute. Something beautiful, well-thought out, something I could be proud of. But I don’t have it in me today. Instead, I’m full of funk. There’s a big ball of tension in the pit of my stomach. I feel like I want to throw up. On the verge of tears. Not pleasant to be around. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to curl up in a ball and cry.

I feel like I’m eight years old again. And I need my mommy. I can remember when I was in the third grade, Kristi C. had a birthday party. Everyone in the class was invited to her party. Except me. It may have been a simple over-sight, but it certainly didn’t feel like one. It hurt like hell and I remember crying about it for quite some time.

Today I was brought back to the third grade. Over a birthday party again, of all things. But this time I’m pissed. Pissed at myself for even allowing myself to get my feelings hurt over not being invited to a birthday party of a co-worker when everyone I work with was invited. Even the brand-new guy who’s only worked here for four days … invited. Why do I care? It’s not like this is someone I socialize with. But I know why I care. I care because it brings me right back to the third grade and Kristi. And because I don’t have my mom here to soothe me with her words of wisdom.