Miserable, kind of.

It’s been a few days since the last post. My computer is broken. It won’t turn on; it makes this BEEEEEEP noise until you shut it off again. Yeah. So my dad dragged out the laptop, which works shockingly better than the tower (even when it’s not making the noise).

I’m sick. I have a cold. I’ve consumed about 80 gallons of water within the last three hours in an attempt to be healthy for my birthday tomorrow. THAT’S RIGHT. TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY. But seriously, I’m sitting here with a pitcher of ice water and every intention of waking up tomorrow completely healed.

I’ll be seventeen, you know. 17. I don’t really like the number. I like sixteen better. It has a nice ring to it, and very positive connotations. This reminds me of when Renee said after church on Jenny’s 16th birthday, “Sixteen and never kissed a boy!”. Jenny had, of course, kissed multiple boys, but it was hilarious that the entire congregation was able to renew the view that preacher’s child was still the virgin Jenny.