Smells like teen birthday.

I'm 19 today.

I have survived my teen years quite comfortably.

This is the last hurrah.

I'm sitting here in my kitchen at 12:45 AM, writing a paper on postcolonial Haiti, with my sister laying on the bench next to me, asleep. Sufjan Stevens is whispering out of my speakers with lovely Holland, and my constant companion, peppermint tea, is at my disposal. All in all, even though I need to finish this paper, my environment is pretty plush. I like being home.

We had worms n' dirt tonight. I was at work a couple weeks ago, and realized as was making an Oreo shake, that I haven't had worms 'n dirt in YEARS. So, I inquired of my mother to see if it'd be possibly to eat some on my birthday weekend. Heh. Yup.

Gah. My fridge has been making weird thumping noises all night. Irritating.

Well, I should get back to slaving over a paper about slaves slaving.

Sayonara.