As her father is prone to say, holyfuck. This day was unfathomable 18 years ago, in the way that 18 years off is, from any given moment in time and space. We were not far past 30 years old, her father and her mother and I; the thought of where she would go to college (three big acceptances so far, with more to come, including my personal favorite) was as distant as the sun. Now? Damn, we're geezing.
Happy fucking 18th birthday, Planet. You remain the best kid evar, though the day when I'll have to adjust the noun is not far off. We'll try to see you sometime before you graduate--you're owed something major in the giftie department, as it happens. Maybe someday soon you can knock your uncle Bromark's punkass down and steal his United ticket?
And the Thing Is, You Want to Talk Epiphanies
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