I will, I won't. I do, I don't.
And then I went to look at a loft apartment with Ryan and I felt the desires to have a real job and be married to someone in 3 to 7 years explode inside of me.
I'm turning 22 in a month and two weeks or something like that.
This is the first birthday I'm actually really really ok with since I turned 17. The nostalgia of leaving 20, 19, 18, and 17 was especially traumatic. But I actually can't wait to be 22. I have no regrets about leaving 21. Not that it was bad, because I loved it. It's just that I'm ok with being 22. 22 is a nice number.
But when I turn 23, I know I'll just die. For no rational reason. I just don't want to be 23.
Conor knows: "So, I go back and forth forever. All my thoughts, they come in pairs."
Dinosaurs and settling down... How can I have both?
Why do I even want the settling down part? And so soon? THAT'S NOT EVEN ME.
Sometimes I hate this age.
Also, I wish I could talk about all the things of substance that actually matter in this blog. I'm exploding with actual real problems too. Mostly just caring about the real problems of other people. Why does it seem like everyone's going through complete shit right now? I love you guys.