It’s just another year.
I can legally smoke, buy porn and lottery tickets, go into bars and clubs, go to big girl jail, work at different places, and stay out later than 11.
Whoo.
It’s just another number. Just another year.
I’ll admit, a lot has been on my mind lately. I feel old, even though I know I’m really not.
I’m still a little kid at heart. Even though I won’t admit it, I still watch cartoons with my brother. I still press buttons on toys when I’m in the store and run like hell when they’re super loud. I play with my straw papers when I go out to eat. The word penis makes me giggle. I get thrown out of Wal-mart for play fighting and riding bikes around.
I thought about all the fun I’ve had the last four years, all the trouble I’ve gotten in (and now my arrest record is clean!), all the time I’ve spent with friends.
I remember the time Nikki made me laugh so hard I shot jello out of my nose.
I remember the time Erin and I drew lesbian pictures all over the walls of The Skyline before it closed and how we laughed when someone saw us at Target and asked us if we drew those pictures.
And the time we were at Insomnia and Erin left for like 10 minutes to get pizza and by the time she got back I was being flocked by more lesbians and she had to pretend to be my girlfriend so they would leave me alone.
I remember sitting in the emergency room, sobbing because I thought I had swine flu and it turned out to be a really awful case of strep. I thought I was going to die.
I remember the huge brawl we all got in right before Christmas and how everyone was fighting over Myspace.
I remember Marquies’ birthday and how we stayed out at Stars and Strikes until 4 in the morning, I woke up in the floor and Marquies was spread out all over the bed. We got up at 6, got coffee, and went to the school for the last night of Beauty and the Beast. It was great.
I remember the first time my heart broke and how I thought the world was ending. I laid in the floor and poured out every bit love I had and replaced it will concrete walls. I remember the three years of my life I threw away on a naive dream. I remember every ounce of the pain, every tear I ever shed.
I remember my first kiss and how it sucked. (Yes, I didn’t kiss anyone until like waaaay after all of my other friends. Sue me.)
I remember what it feels like to fail a class. I cried for days.
I remember feeling hatred for the first time and how scared I was for feeling the way I did. I didn’t know I could feel so much rage, how I actually wanted to hurt someone
I remember ruining a few friendships.
I remember the rush I got when I hit 150 on the speedometer for the first time. I can’t explain how I felt, but the closest I can get is to say it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.
I’ve also learned a lot. I’m still learning, and I hope I continue to learn right up to the second I die.
I guess what I’m really trying to get at is that I feel like I’m actually living, not just alive.
But like a turtle sticking it’s head out if it’s shell, I’m still waking up to the real world. I’m still too trusting, still so incredibly naive.
I want to always look for the good in people, even when there is none.
The only thing that could have made my birthday better was to hear from my father. No call, no letter, nothing. Not a single word from that half of the family.
I’ve preached so hard about not burning bridges, I forgot there was a torch in my hand. I walked around, dripping gasoline and desperation for approval.
But it is what it is. You can’t take back words, can’t undo actions, and most importantly you cannot dwell in the past.
Because if I died tomorrow, I would die knowing I did the very best I could.
But for now, I’ll just keep on living.
