theme for BCS b

My Birthday [editor's note: this is the fifth installment in the riveting series of such classics as: My Family (and where they fail to reside), My Summer Vacation (and its unbelief), My Pets (their metaphysical powers of existence and the lives of their parasites), and My Daily Hygiene Rituals (and the relative frequency of appositives and reflexive verb structures therein). translated from the original That Language in a big hurry):
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Usually, I prefer to forget my birthday. Since it occurs in the summer, I was never in school on that day when I was young. On account of that, I never had to endure any parties at school. During summers, most of my friends would flee the country (to America, mostly) and, therefore, were not around Tokyo. This was great for me and my plan to forget my birthday. However, while I was living with my family, it was still hard to accomplish this fully. I was forced to remember my birthday because they would have some sort of dinner with cake (without chocolate) for me and would give me little presents. Sometimes they would even sing a song. I would usually hide beneath the table while this happened. Now, even if I don't say anything about a birthday, my friends remember and, after that, insist that we celebrate the official beginning of another year of my life. No one realises that, whether or not it is accompanied by a celebration, a birthday is just a day. It's possible either to remember or to forget your own birthday, but it's impossible to not have one.
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this little composition went over like a lead sack of feathers and i was, consequently, forced, for the remaining 3.5 hours of class, to atone for my misanthropy by eating chocolate cake (brought by the Texas girl, who somehow had the date correct. how she discovered this piece of highly classified information, i'll never know; i suspect that your humble narrator and erstwhile shoddy spy made a typically fatal small-talk slip-up during a certain drive to Indianapolis through a terrific thunderstorm; its wall of water and the impending wedding made me do it. and that is my final story).

Tijana, where are you when most i need you, who would persist in giving me themes on which to write, but who would never flinch when the answer came back negated, inverted, (or both), knotted and splayed around a single pivotal word, slanderous, hysterical, dogmatic, or just plain incomprehensible despite immaculately constructed sentences?