I have three hours left of being 22, so I'd like to take this opportunity (before it is wasted) to be... well, a little prosaic.

I don't think I've ever had a bigger year, honestly. I've already made the 18 vs. 22 comparison elsewhere...so I'll try not to completely rehash. But...damn. When you're 18, yeah, you're moving out. And yeah, you're on you're own for the first time. But only sort of. 22 is when it hits the fan and expands into optimism all at the same time. Yes- "Shit...I have to move out again? But I love it here!" and "What? I have to pay my own bills all by myself?" and, of all things, "What am I doing here? Besides just going to school?" But Oh My God all of those things are important- because you're not just "on your own," you're ON YOUR OWN and you have to make it mean something. Holy crap!

Holy crap...

But you know? Sometimes I look up when I'm coming home at the end of the day, and I'm like "See that little apartment with the balcony in front? I paid for that." And sometimes I'm like "What am I still doing in school?" and on my good days I realize that it's because I like it and because I want to know more about the things I like PURELY FOR THE AGGRANDISEMENT OF MY OWN BRAIN. Holy crap! When else can you get away with doing that?

So I'm glad that I had one last incredible semester at Berkeley. I'm glad that I had to decide on grad school. I'm glad I had to graduate. I'm glad I had to move home and spend my summer answering phones and dealing with real people. I'm glad I started school (in a completely different universe.) I'm even glad that all that family stuff happened because we're coming out of it and we're all okay. And I'm glad I have my doubts about stuff, and I am so glad that I'm finally learning to do things because I just want to do them.

23...BRING IT ON.