Eighteen

I write out my numbers. Typical.
Saturday was the most relaxing day I've had in a very long time, and the most stress-free birthday I've had ever. As hard as I try, I cannot think of anything that could have made it better. I'm typing on my new laptop, Dexter. Despite the fact that my family just had a little blowup and my nearest and dearest friend is unhappy as can be, my eighteenth birthday will be something special I remember always. Even the moon couldn't ruin it.
I'm keeping a notebook. Daily. That is something I haven't done since sophomore year, and that was out of pure emotional need. Now, it's a choice I am glad to make. Needless to say, conclusions are far easier reached when one has taken notes.
I have a cake. I have a line in the sand that is washing away in the most beautiful way possible. I have two wonderful brothers who will share the stage with me this Wednesday for a night of lovely music. I have a dad that decided to come back into the house. I have Grey's Anatomy loaded on the tab next to this one. I have a cramp-free body and warm toes and lots of books to read and paper to fill and things to learn. I'm very content. My life is closer to perfect than it ever has been. I can't even begin to describe how glad I am to be alive.