(Insert French whining tune here)
So, I am turning 21 in a few weeks time, still preferably all by myself. I was not fond of celebrating birthday for starters, much less so in recent years when my parents made cheesecakes mandatory for any of these occasions, and they make me SICK. Birthdays are curses to me, one bitter reminder to how closer I am to my inevitable senescence and miserable death.
You see, I feel guilty embarrassed for doing anything normal, from day to day. I remember starting the trend of handing out travel sweets on birthdays at high school, so what I did must have had an effect on people, yet when I think about birthdays it still brings up unpleasant memories.
Anyway back to the title, what I intend to do in these relatively peaceful hours of my life is to write a series of anthology for myself. In the past I have tried to initiate a (good) habit of writing diaries in the past however never really succeeded once, and I will need to write them down before I forget while sitting here and lamenting my male pattern baldness.
Just to show how fast I am dying within.
