it’s my nineteeth birthday today! who thought the day would ever come when i’d finally be of legal age to drink, smoke, and club (perhaps not all simultaneously) — well, in vancouver, canada anyway. but i can’t picture myself doing any of the above. beer tastes like rancid urine (i’m guessing), smoke is just smelly, and clubs are quite simply the brothels of many, many desperate singletons. and i choose to be non-desperate.

at any rate, i just feel like staying home and watching bridget jones’s diary for the umpteenth time.

yesterday, at the start of my birthday weekend, i woke up sick with a terrible headache. i ran out into the inert atmosphere of the house only to find that no one was home. to my own surprise, i started impulsively cleaning the house. i was picking up dirty laundry and shoving it into the dryer and washing random pots and pans in the kitchen sink, both making my fingers ridiculously pruny. i filled the dishwasher and emptied it when it was done dishwashing. i then proceeded to tidy up the miscellaneous items on the coffee, kitchen, and dining room tables and plumping pillows on the couches.

i’m not sure why i did this. i haven’t touched cleaning detergent in months let alone taken away my neglected dirty laundry at the foot of my bed. i guess turning nineteen has made me think that i’ve become this independent chica who can fend for herself when it is clearly the opposite case. though, cleaning the house doesn’t necessarily equate to proclaiming one’s independence. now washing the car… that’s a whole other story.