It feels like a perfect night...
...to dress up like hipsters, and make fun of our exes.
Okay, so, I won't continue. If you didn't get the point, I'm feelin' 22. It's my birthday! Yay and stuff. I like birthdays. I think it's fun to celebrate the fact that I've went on another trip around the sun.
Every single year of my life that I can remember--and from the photo evidence I've gathered, all the years before that too--living at home, my mom decorated the entire house after I went to bed so that on my birthday I could wake up to balloons and streamers and shitty little "happy birthday" cardboard signs she's probably had longer than she's had me.
I've always had homemade cake, or, if requested, another desert of my choice. I've always gotten to choose my favorite restaurants to go to or my favorite meal for my mom to make. It's one day of the year where me, the spoiled baby of my family who certainly never gets her way on any other normal day, gets to make all the calls. And it's fun. It's fun to have a day where people you love are focused on you.
This year is a little different than most. Most years I neglect all responsibility and just have fun. This year, whether it's because I'm a senior or because of sheer bad luck I am not sure, I can't avoid my responsibilities.
I have a biology test on Friday so I had to go to lecture. I have biology lab today, too, and that is two hours of my birthday I will never get back, but two hours my grade does not want me to miss. I could have skipped my Shakespeare class, but that would've just disappointed Sandra Looney and disappointing Sandra is not worth 50 minutes of birthday fun.
I have to rush my birthday supper with Luke because I have lab until five, and then press night for yearbook at 6:30. I just have a busy day. But so far, it has not been a bad day. In fact, it's been a pretty damn good day. And when I go out with my friends later tonight, I'm assuming it will be even better.
I have a bunch of cool friends who have sent me a bunch of very sweet messages. Luke got me a beautiful light Patagonia coat that I got to wear today in the nice weather. Every year since my fifteenth birthday, I've been sick; and, although I'm still taking antibiotics from feeling like death last week, I feel healthier than I have any birthday in the recent past.
Today I am twenty two. That feels old. Everybody talks about your twenty first birthday. TWENTY FUN, am I right? And twenty one was fun. So was nineteen when I went to an Aaron Carter concert. So was eighteen when I met my favorite author. But twenty two feels old--or at least almost old. And it feels like I'm an adult. What's scariest is that on my birthday next year I'll probably be working a full-time, real, adult job. So, here's to biology and William Shakespeare and yearbook spreads, and making this next trip around the sun the best one yet.
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