And the odometer keeps on rollin'...

20.

It's a pretty insignificant age, really. No new priviledges, no previously-forbidden-areas/substances/activities whose interdict has been lifted. You're not a teenager, but you can't even call yourself a twenty-something. You're just...twenty.

Which leaves absolutely nothing to distract me from milking this day (and the year to come) for all it's worth. I feel more confident and directed than ever before, which only means that I've beat one level of life's nintendo game and am now moving up to the next one, full of its fair share of the good (foxtails that make you fly, stars that make you invincible), the bad (poisonous flowers rising from green pipes), and the ugly (Bowser. 'Nuff said.).

Basically, c'est-a-dire that it's a year of brand new everything, which is equal parts exciting and terrifying.

God, I want to devote this year to you. Otherwise it may as well not be lived.