Well since it is your birthday I suppose I better write to you. You may choose to call it a birthday wish but I would not go that far. It sounds rather sentimental, and as you know I dislike sentimentality. Besides, I hope you do realize there is nothing more pitiful than a sentimental middle age woman.
In any case, we have been together for a long time since that July in 1965. The summer was hot that night you arrived, and I knew from the first look at you there will be mixed luck and bumpy rides. You did not land as any respectable new-born would, but rather scrambled and fought your way out. There was hardly anybody waiting for you, I grant you that. Still you could not wait to scream for your share of dirt and oxygen. Will of steel and heart of dove.
I wondered why I was assigned to you on the first place. It was a well-known fact that I much prefer well-rounded, respectable families. They produce children who grow up with clear goals and boundaries. They become level-headed and practical beings. Industrious and productive. They always make something of themselves. Find their path early and walk on it steadily. They ended up well accomplished and with something to show. One is proud to have followed.
And followed I have. You dragged me from one side of this earth you inhabit to another. Then one more time and back. Even now, in your old age I hear there is still more to come. I am starting to really worry there will be nothing at all to show at the end. Nothing but what we started with; dirt and oxygen. I can only contemplate the damage it will do to my reputation.
Since apparently you were bestowed with lots of potential. But they always say that, don’t they? I suspect it was just a marketing trick to get me on the job. Despite the terrible lack of audience and serious absence of any means. May I also point out to you that you have not improved those circumstances either. Which just stands to show, and I have to say it again; my dear girl one cannot make it in this world with just resolve and love. Are you listening?
Yes, I know I have said it all before and on many occasions. And, yes I do know it is too late anyway. Still one must try.
It is true we stood together in that rain of shells and steel and death while sun turned colour of blood and madness. You did turn away from it I’d say that for you. Barefoot worrier. I was rather proud of you then.
I guess there were few other occasions you made me proud. But I cannot dwell on those now. Time is running out I better warn you. No, I am sorry you cannot suck me now. My assignment is for life. Besides it is not up to you or me for that matter.
Yes, there are few other little things I have to point out to you before to shut up. For a start don’t you think that is about time you stop dreaming? And what about that constant scribbling everywhere? Writing poetry. I see. Like when you were 17 years old. Still about love? Still looking for heroes? Oh dear!
It is getting too late tonight. But I really do think it is a high time you pull yourself together. You know settle they call it. I am sorry to have to say it again but one really must take what one can. It is just dirt and oxygen otherwise trust me.
Happy birthday dear girl,
Your Life Coach (they used to call us Guardian Angels in the old times).