Almost Eighteen

I have an official announcement to make. Though I still look like a freshman or sophomore at the very oldest, as of midnight I will no longer be jailbait.

In less than two hours I will  officially reach the age of majority, which is eighteen in the United States. I'll be able to enter into contracts and to  give consent for a host of activities,  although I won't be able to buy alcohol, legally drink, or enter nightclubs, but I'm not terribly bothered by those looming limitations.  I have no desire to go to nightclubs, I have no need to purchase alcohol because it's very easy to access in my house, and as long as I'm not driving with alcohol in my system or appearing in public in an intoxicated state, the legality of my drinking is a non-issue.

I've probably given the impression in recent blogs that I'm something of an alcoholic in the making, but such is, fortunately or unfortunately, not the case.  I don't actually like the taste of alcohol, although I enjoy a nice buzz as much as the next person does. I've deduced that if I don't drink very often, I can get a really nice buzz from a half-bottle of Guinness, which also has the positive side effect of increasing my appetite. So maybe once each week I consume my quota. Then I'm happy, and when I'm happy, everyone around me has a much better chance of being happy than if things are not to my liking.

My weight is up to an all-time high of ninety pounds.  This did not magically happen. It's taken months of diligent consumption of as many calories as I can stomach. I'm still not exactly stout, but I look significantly less like an eastern European orphan than I did a year ago.  It's probably a life-long battle for me, as my mother continues to have to work at not looking anorexic, and she's in her late forties.

Not a lot or major changes as a result of my turning eighteen are foreseen. I'll spend the night in my dorm room on campus a little more often, but I see no need to make the dorm m official residence when I have such plush quarters in my parents' home. I don't have my own baby grand piano in my dorm room, for one thing, nor do I have a private bathroom.  Furthermore, my parents aren't all that intrusive. I'm happy where I am. Next year I may spend a little more time in the dorm. Then again, maybe I won't.

It's odd that a milestone I  eagerly anticipated for so long is arriving with  little psychological fanfare. My friend said she thinks it's because I've had a lot of the privileges of being of age since I started at the university. She may have a point.  Regardless, tomorrow's just another day,although it does come with presents, and presents are always nice.