Midnight is one thing, but for me my birthday never really starts until after dawn. Or, more correctly, whenever the hell my lazy ass gets out of bed.

Technically my age increases every year at 12:46 am. EST on November 8th, but really, it's the morning. It won't feel like my birthday, no matter how late I stay up the night before, unless I go to sleep first.

Also in the feeling like it's my birthday clause: it is still my birthday untill I go to sleep that night.

Technicalities-Schemicalities. Blaah. It's my birthday, I say what goes.

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I woke up and went to school. Nothing Special.

Well, maybe one thing, this is where my new bag got it's monkier from.

The Mary Poppins Bag.

It's red. It's moderate in size. You'll either love it or hate it. It has, the capacity to hold many wonderous things including but not exclusively: pens, papers, notebooks, make-up, cell-phones, fiction novellas, wallets, money, zip-disks, keys, cigars, cigarettes, 3 or more comic books, combs, brushes, and last but not least...sketchbooks!!

I'm putting away the 'game show voice'. It wants out every once in a while, ((sigh)) but alas, I can not keep it out forever.

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My dad, as it turns out, got me the first 2 Harry Potter books for my birthday. Until I read them (in 3 hours apiece, avid reader ya think?) I was slightly disgusted with all the hype about them. I kept getting told to read them by several different people, different being, friends of mine from very different walks of life, not just different individuals.

Now, I'm actually impressed. I was entertained.

They (the books) kind of reminded me of "The Worst Witch". It was a British movie from the late 70's early 80's that became a series over in England. It was kind of cheesy but I loved it when I was little. That and the readabilty of CS Lewis's 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe'.

I was telling R, how suprized I was that I liked them, and started to say just that when he cut me off saying: 'Don't you dare say they're like 'The Lion the Witch and the Wardobe.'

I was momentarilly flabbergasted. This from someone who wants to know me; what I think, and how I think, (and the same for me with him) who says we're not there yet, pulls this right out of thin air.

How, if you don't know me at all, did you just do that?

He explained that he knows I read the Narnia series and would logically make that comparison. Well, don't that beat all?

This started a dicussion on how childrens books actually become classics. The weirder the better. Alice and Wonderland. It's weird. Extremely. You don't know what the hell is going on, it really has no point, and there are numerous essay, books even, on what it means.

Trying to figure it out is what facinates people again and again. It's one of those things that you can interprete to your liking.

I've *always* wanted to do that. Write something sustaining that is. It's a vanity thing. I would love for people to come back to one of my stories over and over and love it tirelessly.

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After school I went and visited my mom and my step-dad. She would of killed me if I hadn't shown up. The last few years I've started to understand her a bit more. All (most) parents actually. I mean, how would you feel if you didn't get to see your child on their birthday, or at least talked to them? It would be crushing.

I'm getting better at getting out of my own head. I wouldn't have traded all those years of having my nose stuck in a book for the world, but I still feel like a teenager at times, trying to figure out how to interact with people around me.

I'm not quite good at that I confess. Superfically I'm fine, striking up a conversation is great, but sharing something that is important to me is hard. Hard like diamonds: cut everything else that gets too close.

I'm tired. This will be finished later.

1, 2, 3, 4...

(This is not smut, or porn and it is not always explict so don't be expecting anything)