Harry turned nineteen and got money, a razor, funnies and a sore ankle. I got a facebook (gasp!) and glasses and toured colleges with my dad in Massachussets and Rhode Island and we talked a lot.

My dad is the family member with whom I fight most but is also the one who is most like me and who understands me best. It was a good trip, actually. I can't really explain myself very well, but I do feel like I have a vague sense of who I am and that I'll be okay wherever I go, and he gets that. I'd still rather go somewhere really good, though.

Lots of deep philosophical thoughts but I'm too tired to do anything but change out of these jeans and take off my glasses and fall asleep in the fuzzy blindness.

Why does everyone but me hate Zora Neale Hurston? I LOVE her.