Tuesday, January 22, 2013


Somehow we end up talking about birthdays, and Seattle is talking to me and he asks me when mine is. I'm proud that I know his and he doesn't know mine and he's asking me, because sometimes people are proud of the weirdest things and secrets that give us value.

"A few days after yours," I say, but then I think about it, because today's been such a great day. I'm reading Fever by Lauren DeStefano, and the main character's father defines a carnival as:

"Celebrations for when there was nothing to celebrate."

I feel like celebrating today, because Fortune was with me all lunch long and my friends Orqua and Tangoerine, and, of course, Georgie, were with me too, in the hallways with Seattle and talking and laughing about shallow things that were made beautiful because of the people surrounding me.

"A few days after yours," I told Seattle, the boy I like, and he doesn't know that I'm sort of lying, because even though my birthday is after his, it might be today too. It might have been yesterday. A birthday is like Lauren DeStefano's definition of carnival, because it's a celebration for when there's not much to celebrate, and today I feel like celebrating, because I've been spending the last week feeling DEAD


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