. . . does mean a year wiser. I thought that turning 22 was the least exciting thing. While I felt no different from 21, I realize how much I've matured in the last few years. The catalyst for my realization? I saw my old roommate, Brittany Black on the way to sharing a birthday meal with my roommates. I reallllyy reallly reallllllly hated her three years ago. One could say that she ruined a good part of my freshman year and my early college experience by causing me to be depressed and considered transferring to NIU, which woulda been a big mistake considering how awesome the journ. program is here. Thing is, I felt nothing when I looked at her. It was great. I'm over it. I wish none of what went done did but it's over, whatevs. I got Kat as a roommate the following semester, and everything was OK with the world.
I feel so mature that I'm over it. She's clearly not. She and her red-headed friend looked at me and pointed and jabbed and giggled all the way down the street. Too bad they look and act exactly the same as they did freshman year. It's pretty embarrassing on their part, that they can't get over themselves. Such a strange life affirming sign. I haven't seen her since freshman year and then I see her at basically the end of my college career (and on my birthday, just as I felt like 22 was so blah) and I've changed so much for the better and she's still exactly the same. I'm an actual adult, guys!
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