I like the idea of being nineteen better than being 18 even though 8 is my favourite number and nine is odd and nineteen is odd and I should actually dislike this in every way. Maybe I am getting better. Maybe 18 was just a disappointing year and maybe nineteen will be better.
Currently I am sick, my face is all broken out, I have a huge scrape on my chin, bags under my eyes the size of Texas, a sprained wrist, a fucked up foot, a headache, I thoroughly enjoy finding ways to piss someone off, and my favourite uncle's fiance's Greek mom thinks I'm gorgeous and an angel.
It would be nice if people got to know me, but then again I guess it would be nice if I told the same story to everyone.
Have fun trying to figure me out when I'm dead.
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