Monkey Business

layla’s birthday

Friday, April 16, 3:30 p.m.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Twenty-seven today. Twenty-seven sounds a lot older than twenty-six, doesn’t it? Twenty-six sounds young and blond and fun, whereas twenty-seven sounds serious and possibly brunette.

I’m at the library in my usual spot, studying Finance. Alone. I don’t know where Jamie and Kimmy are studying these days, but I haven’t seen them here. I hope they’re not letting their work slip. All I can say is that I’m thrilled I’m not in their group.

Tense, tense, tense.

My friends from home all sent me e-cards. No one here knows it’s my birthday. My bank balance increased by a thousand bucks. Which means my mother or father transferred money into my account. That’s what they do every year. I think it’s on automatic-transfer so they don’t have to remember to do it.

I didn’t expect the people here to know, so I can’t say I’m disappointed. I’ve never mentioned the exact date. Besides I’m not talking to them. Jamie was a mistake and it’s best to sever the ties now. And Kimmy hasn’t apologized since kicking me out of her room.

My desk creaks as I shuffle in my chair.

So no party this year. Not a big deal. I’ll celebrate in a few weeks with my real friends, when I’m home. Training for the job starts May 3 and runs for a week, and then I work for three months. The back of my head hurts when I think about three whole months of redundancy reducing, overhead eliminating, cost cutting, economies of scale…I wish I had a job that made an actual difference in people’s lives. Like Ronnie. Or Danielle Grand. I wonder if they love their jobs. If they’re happy. Was I happy at the bank? Will I be happy? Are my parents happy?

Does it matter?