Well, today I'm 19. Dad and I celebrated last night, because he's been gone today to watch some racing in Topeka with family. I almost got to come along, but the situation was complicated, and the circumstances turned out against me. My dad was really disappointed that I couldn't come. That was okay by me; I'm not the kind to get excited over automobile racing. However, it does mean that I'm spending my birthday approximately 90 miles from my nearest friend or family member.
Why is it that painful memories all seem to come back on holidays? Maybe it's just because I have more time to think today. It hardly matters. I thought I could spend the day listening to good music, or watching movies, or reading a good book, perhaps. Instead, for some reason, I've been spending most of the day trying not to cry. I think it's good, though. Everybody needs those kind of days now and then to vent bottled up feelings, I guess.
Perhaps I'll start writing a novel today. I've wanted to write a novel for a good while. My mom wrote one, although it hasn't yet been published. Oddly, I find that I'm the most insightful when I feel sad. When I'm content, I busy myself with everyday obligations, and when I'm angry, I become just plain unreasonable, but when I'm sad, I think harder than normal. And I don't mean "think harder" as in pouring more brain power into solving a dilemma or being witty; rather, I introspect. Also, I consider the blessings and curses that come with having close relationships with friends and family. And I realize how much they all mean to me.
I regret few things in my life. Today wouldn't look quite right if did my life over again and changed things. By God's grace, I don't intend on having any major regrets in my life. I think I'm preparing myself for the future, keeping my ducks in line, and so forth, all the while acknowledging that nobody has been able to do it, and nor will I be able to do it. But I try my best. I'm trying to live healthier, build character, become responsible, and have more fun doing it. Hopefully I will be able to change the world while I'm at it, or at least a few lives.
Should I write a funny novel or a serious one? I'm not into scary books, and I couldn't write one if I tried. Perhaps suspense. Perhaps a tragedy. Who knows, I may be able to write a good love story. I could write an autobiography and further dramatize my life. I find that people my age like to dramatize their lives. I'm sure we'll grow out of it - perhaps once we figure out that our lives are no more dramatic than Uncle Eugene's was when he was a teenager. I don't really have an Uncle Eugene.
So, 19 years are tallied away, and I reckon I have at least 45 more to go. Hopefully I'll grow wise with age, and not turn out to be the creepy old guy in town who talks to himself as he walks down the street. I'd like to be able to drink coffee once a week with my friends, like my Grandpa Thane. Maybe I'll get a dog like my friend's dog, Rae. She's a peaceful dog. I've met a few cats during my life that I have liked, too. I still have a few years before I have to take on that kind of responsibility, thankfully.
Well, I feel a lot better after writing this. It's great to be able to write things down for total strangers to see. Maybe on July 4th I'll pour out some more repressed feelings. Ciao!