What a Few Slices of Pizza Taught Me

I ordered in for dinner tonight.
My birthday's just a few days away, but I'll be working late that day, so I figured... why not treat myself a little early?
Domino's sent me a "Happy Birthday" coupon by email, but ironically, their Half-Price Wednesday deal was actually the better discount — so I went with that instead.

I'd run into way too many people in a supercrowded area earlier today, and I think the whole experience just drained me.
I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, so I chose their Drop & Go™ option to avoid face-to-face contact.
Later in the evening, just as the store's closing time was approaching, my intercom rang.
It was the sound that meant the delivery guy had arrived, dropped the pizza off beside the front door, and left.
I quickly slipped on my sandals, picked up the box, and came back inside.

Finally... my first meal in 14 hours. Itadakimasu.
And to myself, I whispered, "Happy Birthday."

Not that it feels all that happy, really.
I was born, and now I'm trapped seeing and living in this messed-up world.
That's the reality.

So then, what's this pizza even for?
If my birthday isn't something to celebrate, then this pizza is just food.
Nothing more, nothing less.
And yet... here I am, caught between conflicting feelings.
Tonight, Domino's just happened to be the thing that brought it all to the surface.

It reminded me of something I once wrote in a message I put into a tiny bottle: that some English phrases printed on their fries and nugget boxes weirdly stuck with me in an uncomfortable way.
Since around October 2024, Domino's Japan started using a new tagline: 「いい日、ドミの日。」("A good day is a Domino's day").
That line was printed on the fries box I got today too — but thankfully, none of those other unsettling phrases were on it.
Small relief, I guess.

The past few Golden Week holidays haven't been great for me — emotionally or physically.
Not because of work, but because there's this rigid, internal image I have that GW is just a gloomy time.
I can't shake it.

And there's this thing my mother once said that I'll probably never forget:
"You were born on a public holiday, so the delivery cost more. You should've come on a weekday."
...Honestly, what am I supposed to do with that?

I mean, due dates are just estimates.
Babies show up when they do.
What was I gonna do?
Communicate from the womb like, "Hey mom, it's a weekday! Now's your chance to save some money!"?

Even putting feelings aside, I really doubt she needed to tell me about the extra cost of my birth.
And thinking back, yeah — I still don't see why that had to be said at all.

Phrases like "Sorry for being born" or "Thanks for being born" don't quite sit right with me.
My feelings are too tangled to be summed up with simple words like apology or gratitude.
They're not shallow. They're not common. They're just... complicated.

The leftover slices I couldn't finish tonight will probably be reheated and served as my breakfast tomorrow.
But sadly, there's no way to warm my heart itself.
That thought alone fills me with nothing but sorrow — and a deep, quiet loneliness.