Why You Hate Me... heehee

Sigh.

I shouldn't have to address this.

It should be normal. It should be run-of-the-mill. It should be a fundamental part of a deeply-held belief system, like not denying your faith or not consuming high fructose corn syrup. Instead it's a railroaded fanatic offshoot of dangerous sedition with an audience of rolled eyes and crooked fingers.

Birthday. A fascinating word. The connotations would be even more fascinating, if we could peer into the minds of our peers. Let's break it down a bit though.

Let's see, I identify TWO words in that one, actually joined together: BIRTH, and DAY. Look at that! I guess it would have to do, then, with the day on which you were given birth to: born. I was born twice. Let's identify the most important of those two births, so we can set some kind of a solid.

Birth number one: popping out of an internal organ, to begin the decay.

Birth number two: Eternal spiritual rebirth (becoming an 'amaranthine' of sorts).

I'm gonna go with number two here.

My parents can't remember the day I was reborn on. Shucks. What to do...? I know! Let's fix our own! Like Christmas or Easter, neither of which we know the actual day of the month for. It's a Christian tradition, apparently, to celebrate blind. Also known as... faith! So we do an estimate sort of thing, just to peg a day on it (since it WAS a very important, celebratory occasion). Say--February 14th, the first random date that pops into my mind. My new birthday. February the 14th. I like it. It has a nice ring to it. The 14th of February.

Are you beginning to empathize? Can YOUR parents remember YOUR true re-birthday? If not, take a moment to decide on one now, and together let us pass on our heritage to the cold, lost world.

But for Flatlanders, well, we'll just stick with August 27th.

Joe.

Why You Hate Me logo Copyright of Salt Of Earth (www.saltofearthband.com), reproduced without permission but with full disclosure of outside content.