For my birthday yesterday, I just skipped Osteology and went to go shopping with my mom and ate at a really nice Chinese restaurant. The only materialistic items I wanted at the time was a book (which I am almost done with) and a big, cream colored puffy jacket that makes me look retarded, but it's practically a miniature home that is very cozy inside.

Eighteen doesn't feel that life-changing.
I feel the same as I had when I was sixteen.

SOS