I’m turning 21 in … just a little bit more than 24 hours. Its ridiculous. I’m not 21. I’ve never even had a chance to really use my fake ID. Its gotten me a couple of drinks a couple of places, but I always feel like a spy using a fake passport. Still makes me nervous.
Somehow, there is nothing romantic about using one’s own ID. Nothing romantic about being able to go wherever I want. Â Even though I don’t really like drinking that much, I’m kind of excited. I like margaritas. They’re good.
I feel old. What the hell have I been doing since I turned 18? Playing with airplanes? Has it really been three years?
How to celebrate… I thought about having a party… but that seems so bourgouis. I could have parties when I was under 21. This birthday, time to hit the town.
Ah. Scattered thoughts today. Not my normal organized musings.
Joshua Ziering