18

I must be one of the few people who is always, always sad on her birthday.

It's not terrible, it's just a kind of general depression about time passing. It happens every year. I remember my seventh birthday, getting ready to go out to Cheveys (which used to be the classiest restaurant in town) and bawling my eyes out because I realized I'd never be six years old ever again.

I'm sort of doing that right now, except now I feel legitimately old. I think the last few months of being eighteen have been the Custer's Last Stand of my childhood. I've been watching anime and reading comic books, and regretting that I never took advantage of my prime havoc-wreaking years as a teenager. OK, most of my teenage years were spent crying in a corner trying to be invisible. That's not even a lie. I've been panicking about the end of my childhood ever since The Deathly Hallows came out. I've been acting ridiculously childish all summer because I never want to grow up! From this side of the Big Legal, I feel very, very old.

So I think I'll take this time to be shallow:
Can 19 be a good year?
Can I take this moment to make some unrealistic goals for the next year?

By the time I turn 20, can I be:
130 pounds,
Very, very awesome,
and Not a virgin?

Thanks.

PS Today I bought a cargo vest. A real one, with usable pockets. Not like the fake one with fake pockets I found at the mall last week. And some dominatrix boots. Tomorrow I'm hunting for underwear and Doc Martins.