I may call it my annual festival of self-indulgence, but it is actually more than that. Much of it is introspection. It's my solitary day away from most people, and not doing things for others. Just for myself. I call it re-connecting. And recharging.

Thinking about what it was like. When these days were surrounded by surprises and birthday cakes. When the presents weren't overly expensive, just perfect. Because I wasn't picky. I wasn't all that aware, really, of what was out there in retail wonderland. Just that I liked paper dolls and Barbie, and the hand-made Barbie clothes were just as nice as the packaged ones. Especially if there was glittery fabric involved.

I did get to choose the shape of my birthday cake. That was an annual ritual that I miss. I would love to have a birthday cake baked by my mother. But since I live 12 hours away by car, it's not going to happen. And I really don't need the cake. I did spend an ungodly amount of money purchasing the birthday cake cookbook that she used from an online retailer. It was a bitch to find. But now I have my own copy. Ah, nostalgia. Helping me spend my money since time immemorial.

It helps that it's a rainy day. The first in about a month, so no complaining. But it is a rainy day. And that makes me think.

Generally the summers at home were sunny with perhaps an afternoon thunderstorm blowing through. But the heat was there. And the sun. And the sprinkler. And the flowers. And the raspberry bushes. And the green grass under my bare feet. Do I miss all of that? Not in my current form. As a 5 year old in my swimsuit, sure. But now? Not really.

In my inexpert way I am trying to sum up the odd feeling of sharing my skin with other selves- other me's. It's an odd feeling. I don't often go there. But those other me's are fun. They were full of life and joy. They were full of themselves. And they are still in there. Relics of when I was more of an essential self- before getting diluted by the world. Not sullied, but diluted by influences outside myself. There's probably a Freudian term for that. Something about developmental stages. But I don't know it. And I really don't care. It is just an interesting day visiting my ghosts. Overall, I like them.