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01.28.03 @ 11:51 p.m. // i partied hard, and then i watched nightline.
in nine minutes, it will no longer be january 28. what could be worse than turning seventeen when you want to be four? turning seventeen and one day, for one. "oh, but it isn't so bad," i reassure myself. "seventeen isn't old. i mean, it could be worse. this canadian coin here was minted in 1979. i could be a twenty four year old moose." which really isn't all that reassuring, even less so when said aloud to oneself, but one must try to look on the bright side in any case. my aunt inquired as to why i would not be partaking of cakelike substances today. i informed her most solemnly that i was far too old and jaded by life to engage in such meaningless indulgences. and also because cake would require a flour run to the store, and here at bethany incorporated, slothfulness is our number one priority. i don't even like cake. actually, i lied. (poorly, as suggested by the spasms of mirth suffered on the part of my aunt directly thereafter.) i fully intend to rise unjaded and victorious over responsibility and reality altogether, with a fresh pack of crayons in one hand and my slinky in the other. sometimes i just lapse into a what have i done with my life, what's left for me out there, male pattern baldness is cramping my social life quarter life crisis. you know, except all those things i just listed? don't apply to me. which only makes it that much more troubling. unrelated wisdom: 'minority report' is why friends don't let friends drop acid and direct, children.  last | host | next |