![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Conversation I had today, that pretty much sums up why I hate April, as well as why I'm probably going to be mostly absent from here the next little while:
Q: So... what are you doing this weekend.
Me: Studying.
Q: Hah. No, really.
Me: Studying. Biology, probably. That's almost my first one.
Q: But, why?
Me: Because I still haven't figured out how to study for math.
Q: ...
Q: That's the saddest thing I ever heard. I'll have to come over and pick you up.
Me: You can't. I'll have buried my phone in the laundry basket and you won't be able to find me.
Q: What if I have presents?
Me: You can give them to me next month, when I'm talking to you again?
Q: Oookay. You're kind of a loser, you know that?
Me: Yeah, because unfortunately my faculty doesn't recognize birthday conflicts.
Q: I bet mine would. Maybe you should transfer.
Me: Yes. And that so convinces me that Arts is the more serious field of study.
Q: I'm just saying. You're going to have to put up with this every year.
Me: ...
Me: Shut up.
And while I'm on the subject, somebody seriously needs to kick me in the head and tell me I'm not going to be *that* old. Right now, I'm grasping on to my last few days of being a teenager and going, Nooooo! You can't make me! and feeling like I'm about be eligible for the seniors discount or something. And also kind of silly about that. And like I don't know enough biology.
Next time I'm born, I'm going to have to remember to spread my existential angst triggers out a little bit more.
ETA: I opened my window a few minutes ago, and now my room smells like I've been smoking pot in it. *glares outside* How do you people manage to hotbox the street? It's fucking Monday night. Argh.
Q: So... what are you doing this weekend.
Me: Studying.
Q: Hah. No, really.
Me: Studying. Biology, probably. That's almost my first one.
Q: But, why?
Me: Because I still haven't figured out how to study for math.
Q: ...
Q: That's the saddest thing I ever heard. I'll have to come over and pick you up.
Me: You can't. I'll have buried my phone in the laundry basket and you won't be able to find me.
Q: What if I have presents?
Me: You can give them to me next month, when I'm talking to you again?
Q: Oookay. You're kind of a loser, you know that?
Me: Yeah, because unfortunately my faculty doesn't recognize birthday conflicts.
Q: I bet mine would. Maybe you should transfer.
Me: Yes. And that so convinces me that Arts is the more serious field of study.
Q: I'm just saying. You're going to have to put up with this every year.
Me: ...
Me: Shut up.
And while I'm on the subject, somebody seriously needs to kick me in the head and tell me I'm not going to be *that* old. Right now, I'm grasping on to my last few days of being a teenager and going, Nooooo! You can't make me! and feeling like I'm about be eligible for the seniors discount or something. And also kind of silly about that. And like I don't know enough biology.
Next time I'm born, I'm going to have to remember to spread my existential angst triggers out a little bit more.
ETA: I opened my window a few minutes ago, and now my room smells like I've been smoking pot in it. *glares outside* How do you people manage to hotbox the street? It's fucking Monday night. Argh.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
*blink* You're younger than me? Dude. I had you pegged as a year or so older. Oh well.
Anyway, twenty ain't that bad. I like to think of it as "tenteen" - trainer wheels for the Real Growneded Upness that comes later. And hey, this means you're a wee bit younger than Keira Knightley, which is no bad thing.
From:
no subject
I'm younger than a lot of people, it seems. I complain at them about facing the big two oh, and they hit me with things.
like to think of it as "tenteen"
Tenteen. Yeah, maybe I can live with that... Or maybe if I suddenly convert to base eleven, it'll be like I'm not gaining any years at all!
I think I have just stumbled upon the secret of middle aged women everywhere. "How old are you?" "Twenty-nine! In base seventeen..."
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject