Friday, Jan. 23, 2004 - 10:24 a.m.
Don't start with the age thing.

What's all this? I have images in my diary, but I didn't put them there. I'm so confused.

(Thank you James. I love you.)

Today's my birthday, and I believe I'll be spending it cleaning the house. But it's alright.

I'm sick of hearing people complain about turning 20, 21, 22, 23, etc. Please. Our parents' generation didn't complain about getting old in their early twenties. I think that's because back then, everything (ie. marketing) was targeted at adults, and now everything seems to be targeted at teenagers. So no one wants to leave their teen years. Funny, I hated my teen years, and I say good riddance, but apparently I'm in the minority there. I know others who hated their teen years, but still don't want to leave them for some reason. Maybe they want more time to redeem them or something.

I once had to listen to this nineteen-year-old girl complain about turning twenty soon, saying she'd rather die. I almost said "Hey, I can arrange that". Honestly. Twenty? You're a sapling.

Then in some ad for that Newlyweds show I heard Jessica Simpson say something like "I'm turning 23! 23's old! It's almost 25, and that's MID-TWENTIES!". Oh, fuck you.

Turning 23 is OK with me. The only weird part is that now that all my "milestone" birthdays are over (and they were pretty much over at 19 when I was legally allowed to drink), I remember my birthday, but I always forget the part where I turn a year older. When asked how old I am, I now must start saying "twenty-three". I always seem to forget that. Fortunately, I'm now past the age where people say things like "And how old are you, sweetie?", so it doesn't come up as often. Although I must admit, I now understand why when I was a kid, my dad always had to ask my mom how old he was turning whenever he had a birthday coming up.

Anyway, it's breakfast time. It's my birthday, therefore I must find something delicious to eat. If it means a trip to the grocery store in my pyjamas, so be it.


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