Nineteen Forever

Greetings all from Planet Still Earth (as in I am still on Earth, but imagine how cool it would be to blog from the moon?)

It’s currently rounding about 9AM and I’m sitting in class and I’m the only one in here because my class doesn’t start for 20 more minutes (I am that girl who is an hour early to my first class and I know that makes me sounds like an eager beaver but I drive to school early so I can put on my mascara in the car) and well I just sneezed about two seconds as I was typing so I didn’t stop so I didn’t cover my mouth or sneeze into the crook of my arm or anything so basically the seat next to me likely has snot particles all over it, and that’s gross, but you know, whatever (what a nice, long sentence).

Anyway, so today marks a pretty important day because it marks well several things: 1) For the first time I am wearing a shirt that is more revealing that I would normally wear (It’s a long white shirt with he word LIAR on it, and it’s super cool but I bought it not knowing that it was slit up the sides (ON PURPOSE), but I really like it and I had to wear it), 2) The last day before we only have one more day of classes (EARLY MAY and I’m basically DONE (besides the 80 million papers that I have to write) college is great), and 3) the last day of April which sets off the final three days of my teen years.

I know, I didn’t want to tell you .

I wanted to make you think that I was going to be nineteen forever.

Of all ages, that would be the best to be. You’re still technically a teenager and a yet a year into official (according to the law) adulthood. You can get away with being stupid enough but still be almost considered smart enough. You’re obscure enough to fall into the cracks because who gives two craps about people who are nineteen? It’s a number and an age that is highly forgettable.

Which, is, you know the same as twenty. In fact (my own) studies will show that nineteen and twenty are two of the most pointless ages to turn. There are no special marks like buying your own lottery tickets (at eighteen) or being able to gamble and drink (legally) (at twenty-one). So me turning twenty just means I don’t have the suffix -teen added on to the end of my age. It basically means I’m going to officially be an adult with a lowercase ‘a’ (as in not adult enough to be an Adult). And it has definitely be sad. I see it not as a celebration of me being alive another year, but more like a funeral for my teen years. And when are funerals ever happy?

I request that everyone wear black on May the 3rd in order to mourn with me.

I’m heading into yet another age of obscurity. 

I’ll settle on being obscure forever.

It’s just another year gone by that I’m not famous. (I feel like this post is getting depressing, but be not depressed. I’m not really a depressing person. Maybe I’m just becoming more adult. (joke, sorta)). But it is. I’ve been working on writing a novel since I was eleven and I’m reaching the ninth year anniversary of my failure!!!!! (I’m not a failure, I just haven’t succeeded yet, I’m just being melodramatic.(this is the logical side of me speaking, she’s still here))

Anyways, so my birthday is this Sunday, so since I’m still a teen, this is me, voiding responsibility, blogging during lecture. But it’s the second to last day of class. It doesn’t even really matter.

Right?

Here’s to being nineteen forever. Pinkies up!

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