I Have 56 More Minutes of Being A Teenager

I mentioned to my dad today that it was my last day as a teenager, and he said, "...Oh. Right. I always thought that being a teenager stopped at 18." Bear in mind that my father is a very smart man; he has a PhD and is a mathematical genius. However, when it comes to intuition or anything having to do with... emotions, he is borderline retarded.

Birthdays have always been important in my life in that most of them have been TERRIBLE. The worst was my eighteenth, when I got pneumonia, received no antibiotics, missed prom, my birthday, and the Dresden Dolls—I'm the most broken up about this, to be honest— and spent a week on the couch thinking that I was going to die. Last year, I did nothing. All my friends were still gone or studying for finals, and the only thing "special" that happened was I went to a show. Which, if you know me, you know isn't at all special.

So now I'm turning twenty in 45 minutes. To me, this means I have to put away childish things and genuinely be an adult (though I've been doing that since I was about 16). In general, I feel a bit ripped off. I never really got to enjoy my childhood, I don't think. I learnt too early that the world is an awful, unfair place and there is so much to WORRY about.

It's a strange adage that people say, these are the best years of your life, usually referring to high school or college. If this is the case, I won't be sticking around to see it get worse. On the other hand, certain friends of mine remind me that things can only get better. So with this contradictory information, I sit drinking on train tracks. I've got enough alcohol in my system that I'm considering lying back and waiting for the train to come, but not so much that I don't know what a terrible idea that is.

I would like to note, THAT IS A METAPHOR. My death certificate is not going to read "Cause of death: ripped asunder and decapitated by train." Hopefully. I don't even know where any train tracks are around here.

Anyway, I'm getting off point. In 32 minutes, I am no longer a teenager. Am I wrong in considering 20 the cut-off for stupidity? Maybe a different kind of idiocy. Also, I don't have any plans for tomorrow, or the day after, or the next week.

Happy fucking Birthday to me.