Bitch

Currently Listening To: Build Me Up Buttercup by the Goops
As of my writing this, at 9:49 on September the 12th, 2007, I have a little more than three weeks left of being 16.

I like 16. It's young to the point of not having a whole hell of a lot of responsibility, but still not too young.

In three weeks, that's gone. I go from teen-teen to old-teen.

In the department of "making me feel even more anxious about turning seventeen", my mom pointed out that 17 is the age when I will start college. On October Fifth, I will be the same age as when I pack up all my shit and move to some place that, as of right now, I have no idea where it is.

(insert a gunshot sound effect, or some other "boom" type sound, here to signify my mind being blown)



Pray for my getting a license. Hopefully it'll be sometime before Bush is unemployed. And if that's the case, hopefully he'll be expelled from office sometime this week.

If I could go back to the spring of my sophomore year and just live then forever, that would be great. I think that might be the happiest I've ever felt. Secure, too. Everything was very certain, you know? Robert's graduation was more than a year away, and my graduation wasn't even a thought. I still had my love seat, my crappy WalMart TV, my upstairs room, my viking bed... I never had to explain why I didn't drive...

Goddamn, I'm emo. I wasn't emo then. All the more reason to go back.

I suppose I could also go back and make bets using my current knowledge. The only flaw in that plan being that I can't remember who won the Superbowl/World Series/Final Four/whatever, so that would do me no good. Eh, whatever. I'd still be from the future. That would cool in and of itself.