Happy Birthday.

I'm going to keep this short, because I start my new lucrative computer job tomorrow, and this blog has been taking up many precious sleep hours. But between the lack of presents, or friends, or a party, or even some kind of dinner (mom and I were going to go tonight, but I got out of work too late), tomorrow is going to be a depressing day. I'm working non-stop. Your words of kindness are great, don't get me wrong. But they're going to be all I've got for my birthday.

I'm turning 19. Shit. I'm no longer in that prime demographic, the quote-unquote "prime" of my life. 18 is supposed to be this magical year, the point where everything is at it's peak. 18 started off well. I had just lost my virginity, had a great girlfriend, doing well in school, waiting to get into UChicago. It ended... well, let's say it's been a slow decline. 17 was my peak.


I really, really hope that statement isn't true.

The anti-depressants are the only things stopping me from just accepting that it is.


Not to mention in a year I'll be 20. It's a really scary thought. I'm very invested in my teenagehood, and while I know I'll still be in college, the idea that I'm so close to being on my own is just bizarre. I'm totally fine with supporting myself, I tried it out to a certain extent in New Hampshire just fine. But 20 is... old. I still feel 14.

That's not healthy, I think. It might also explain alot.

If it does explain alot, that's really pathetic. And depressing.