My journal is 1000!

1000 entries!

Oh yeah, and I turned 22 yesterday. I had a very quiet birthday, involving long walks through a parking lot with Seth, looking at the amazing clouds and watching a storm roll in, and absinthe (I had a little; it tasted like licorice and was very strong, and definitely made me feel funny but I did not hallucinate). I feel that 22 is not a big deal of a birthday. At 21, you can drink and have passed the last legal barrier into adulthood. At 22, you are...older than you were at 21. Whoop whoop. It's time to stop being excited about being on your own and time to start freaking out about the possibility of accidentally growing into a dull person.

Today was Mainstage, where all the little student clubs set up booths in a field and try to wrangle innocent freshmen into joining their club. The Fiction Collective finally got their shit together and set one up about a half hour after the thing had actually started. (There is a trend here.) Fortunately, we got a ton of people signing up for the mailing list and taking flyers, so maybe we won't die out after all.
(It's also kind of weird to think that this is the last Mainstage I will go to. Everything is just weird. What do I do after this?)