I had a good birthday, and I am now twenty years old. I don't feel twenty. Growing up is different from how I imagined it.
When I was a kid I imagined growing older as some kind of magical transformation. I knew sixteen-year-old me would be grown up and mature and different. When I got there, I was still me and I didn't feel any different. Even then I thought that surely when I got into my twenties I would feel different somehow. In reality, I am still just me, the same as I've always been.
Of course, I know I've changed a lot since I was a little kid. I just didn't notice the process of changing like I thought I would.
Anyway, since I finished the school semester, I have been doing a lot of reading and crocheting.
My friend gave me a new book for my birthday on Saturday, and I was done with it by Monday. It was really good. It's by Megan Whalen Turner, and it's called The Thief. I'm almost scared to read the sequels because I was told that they're not as good and I don't want them to ruin it, so I'm waiting a few days before I read them. That way I'm less emotionally attached to the characters.
I stopped at the library last night at around five, and since then I have finished two books. Since almost all I read over the school semester was Hamlet, I've been starving to read some good books. In fact, we made our Christmas wish lists the other day (Mom told us to write them to make it easier for her to know what to get us) and almost every item on my wish list was a book.
I've been crocheting a blanket for my baby nephew Blake and it's almost done. I'm getting excited. I won't post a picture until after Christmas because I don't want my sister to see it yet.
Unfortunately, other than that blanket, I haven't aquired any other Christmas gifts yet, and Christmas is a short four days away. I need to go shopping as soon as possible.