I am at most average for putting sentiments into words because my being sentimental as an idiotic little girl tends to swallow the rest of my processing and functioning as a person, thus, sparing me little words I could hardly connect to form sentences that make sense. Am I making sense to you right now? No. And that's okay, really, because I don't get myself too, sometimes, but that's me. 

Time check: it's 11:04 pm. I am currently 1. Reading Insurgent, the sequel to Divergent 2. In love with Tobias Eaton 3. Getting very sentimental because I am turning 18 4. Tomorrow 5. And yes, I am trying to sound like John Green but 6. I am going to stop now.

I've had a rough day today because of all the crazy running from building to building and hopeless enlisting that had been going on for hours. Reality check: DIDN'T GET ANYTHING. 

In less than an hour, I am turning 18. In less than an hour, my childhood is officially over. In less than an hour,  I won't be - can't be 17 anymore. The best year of my life, no exaggeration. I cannot even begin to describe how much I am going to miss my 17-ness, even when people tell me that a lot of things come with being 18. Even an hour before my big day, this I-feel-like-everything-is-changing feeling is sickening. For sure, I'm overthinking it, but I just couldn't help it. 18 feels different. 18 is different.

So cheers to me spending the first second of my legality on my laptop, or maybe reading insurgent, in my dorm room with my two sleeping roommates. There is so much space for sentimentality, but mine doesn't seem to end within its borders. So I just have to let out a big sigh - of relief or sadness, I do not know.

Happy 18th birthday, Carina.