twenty.

I'm not a birthday person. I'm kind of obnoxious about it too. Wish me a happy twentieth and you'll most likely be treated to a rant about how I haven't done anything in the last two decades or (even worse) how birthdays are overrated and if you're friends with someone you shouldn't need a date on the calendar to tell you to celebrate them. Cherish your friends everyday and all that jazz. I should really be more gracious about that.

Twenty, though. That sounds so removed from me. I'm not this twenty year old. Twenty year olds have apartments and cool jobs and pay bills and live in cities. I'm not there yet. I live in a dorm room. I'm on a meal plan. I don't have a job during the year. Heck, I don't even have a car. The only thing that makes me "independent" is the fact that I'm not physically living under my parents' roof. But I'm still wholly dependent on them in most other ways. I haven't done enough to be twenty. Twenty year olds have done stuff. Important stuff.

Its like how when you were little, high school students seemed so, so cool. And then when you got there, it never felt as cool or exciting as you were sure it would be. Twenty has this connotation of sophistication and independence and energy that I might never live up to.

Believe it or not, my friends still want to be friends with me after having their ears bent out of shape with this constant whinging refrain of mine. And they very sweetly brought me flowers, something I love getting but have few excuses to do so. 

So thank you for everyone who helped celebrate. Thank you especially to the bouquet-bearing Mary, CJ, Harry, Kristi, and Maggie.