The day before

It is the day before my 29th birthday. I am not a published writer. I am not doing something I love. I do not like waking up in the morning.
But these are all negatives, and I should stop that.
This blog is for things I will knit. It is also to motivate me out of this job I hate. Whether that is by knitting or writing, it doesn't matter. Just so long as I get out. I have to get out.
Every time it is someone's birthday, it is my responsibility to order them a cake. There are about 9 people to which I am responsible. The Sugar Addict wants a chocolate brownie cheesecake - enough sweet to stop your heart. The Office Loki wants a carrot cake, because it is not so killer-sweet. The Deadbeat Dad wants chocolate whatever, as long as it is chocolate. The Man in Charge wants cupcakes - it's easier to scrape off the icing and just eat the cake. He scrapes off the icing because "it's bad for you, all that sugar." Also, because he is boring, and cheap, and lives half of a life, saving money and things for God-knows-what, as if once he's done with this life, there will be 20 more to live. 20 more chances to take a chance.
You can tell a lot about a person by their relationship with food.
When it is my birthday, someone is supposed to order a cake for me. I can't order my own cake. I don't quite understand the degree of formality involved - everyone knows they get a cake on their birthday, the surprise is pretty much dead. We all sit at the table when lunch is over and pretend we like each other, waiting patiently for someone to bring out a cake we all know is coming, but have to be surprised about. So I'm not allowed to order my own cake, because I have to pretend to be surprised, and I guess it's doubly hard to pretend if I've ordered it myself, even though I know it's coming? I don't think you can quantify surprise like that, but whatever.
The cakes we get are wonderful. They come from a bakery upstate and they are spectacular. I look forward to birthdays in the office for that reason alone: delicious, moist, mouth-watering cake. I love the red velvet, the coconut, the lemon meringue. The cupcakes are to die for. Go to Carousel Cakes and you'll see what I'm talking about. But you don't know me, so why trust me, right? Well, Oprah recommends it as well. Now I know you're clicking.
It's not exactly part of my job to order cakes for everyone, but it was dumped on me and I don't mind it. It is cake, after all. And if someone doesn't say what they want, I get to choose the new flavor we haven't tried yet. Plus, I really like cake.
I've just been informed that no one remembered to order me a cake. Whoops.
Now I just want to go home. Someone says they will walk around the corner and pick up an ice cream cake, and I refuse it. I don't want an ice cream cake in the dead of winter. I want my tasty, once yearly cake in the flavor that I love, and I don't want anything less. Why should I get anything less?
How is it that I can take care of everyone else, but no one can take care of me?
I am not ordering cakes anymore.


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