Three years ago today I began keeping a journal of my birthday. The first is posted on an old account, the second is on my blackberry memos, the third, will be here.
It seems like every birthday is different for me. My sixteenth I was uneasy, and when it hit, depressed. It wasn't a good birthday. My seventeenth I wasn't expecting anything out of, and it was fantastic. Really, truly, amazing. And eighteen, today, I was so looking forward to. I was so excited. I giggled all yesterday. I was looking forward to it. And now that it's here, for some reason, I'm just sad.
I've been tearing up all day.
That's not fun on your birthday.
Nothing bad has happened really, it's just one of those days.
I love the people here. Some of them, anyway. They're great. They're sweet and understanding. But they don't know me, and they aren't the people I left behind. You know why I always loved my birthday? Cause I got to hang out with my friends. But not here. Without those guys I just feel more and more homesick by the minute. It's terrible. And that some of them won't even remember bugs me.
It just bugs me that I'm not enough one of them to really matter here.
And that I'm too far for it to matter there.
And my family won't even call me, how much do you wanna bet?
Though my day was tearful, I'm expecting my night to be a lot better. I'm going out with my mom and step dad, and it's gunna be awesome. I just hope that I'll get a few calls tonight. But after dinner and a few drinks at legal drinking age, what'll I care?
Eighteen won't be a big deal to me then either.
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