Brown hair, blue eyes, 23 years old. . . look fourteen. Seriously even when I'm wearing my boob shirts. I mean you would think that with a military id card people might start guessing eighteen. There was a time when I was pegged for seventeen. I was in a second-hand store with my mother (soon to be roommate, don't laugh). I was trying on a dress that was perfect below the chest, but above that line is where things got uncormfortable. Flashy. Visions of lingerie. You get the point. But even with my more than impressive clevage, I still got pegged for an adolesent. Come on now.
Just for the record this is meant to be my own personel journal.
All the same, yes I am everyone on the worldwide web see it. Why? God only knows. When I fell the need is nessesary maybe I'll put it on private. Can I do that?
Anyway, it is almost time for me to get out of the Army and move on to freedom. Aside from the fact that I'll be living with my mother. I know. But I would rather never shave my legs again and let my brows grow out and treat my head with lasers and start rapidly aging, than stay in the Army.
Nothing against the Army. It's a great opportunity for the certian kinda person. I am that kinda person. Staying in is an even better opportunity for the right kinda person. I am NOT that person.
Like wearing colors other than green and gray to work. And when I do workout I like it to be on my terms.
Back to moving in with my mom. Since cross country plane rides seem to be costing a lot later, my trips home never found their way into my wallet (my parents wallet either when I was a teenager). My baby cousins grew up without me. I barely recognized the city I was born in, leaved in for the first year of my life, but hadn't visited since I was eight. Wanna hear a suprisly depressing phrase? "Oh my god,you've gotten so beautiful." You wouldn't think so right? but understand it in context. I wasn't around from them say this instead. "You get more and more beautiful everyday." You get it now right. I haven't been there for them. I don't know if things would be different if I was. Or if I'd even want them to be different. But that still makes me homesick for the place I don't remember.
