Geez, I'm 22 tomorrow. I'm not going to write a whole entry about it, but there it is. I am officially old. 21 is old, but it comes with a perk. 22 is just plain old.

I used to collect labels like Subway stamps: eight self-defining moments are worth six inches of human progress. I'm done labeling myself. I don't care if I've grown this year. I'm just living; I'm just happy.

Just one important label I have acquired this year, asexuality; and yet it seems every third discussion going on on AVEN at the moment is a knock-down drag-out about the absolute definition of our shared experience. If you masturbate you're autosexual. If you're attracted to women you're a lesbian; there is no such thing as a gay-asexual. Nudity makes a real asexual want to vomit. We're smarter and more spiritual than sexuals, or we're utter misanthropes. To which I can only say: fuck off.

If labels are useful at all, they must be self-applied, self-defined and inclusive. I'm through with absolutes. The act of discovery is the thing, not the language you use to describe it. I don't care if my experiments are supported by credible sources and able to be repeated and tested for accuracy. It is mine...

So, some other things in my mind on this, the last day of my twenty-first year:

- Gilmore Girls is officially a DVD-worthy show. Oh, Luke and Lorelai give me all sorts of wonderful girly pleasant feelings.

- The West Wing continues to sort of bore and frustrate me, but John Spencer needs another Emmy quick because that was really hard to watch — in the totally good way.

- I've done three interviews for AVEN now, one you can read here (I'm the oh-so-official "spokeswoman," though I'm not at all insisting on anonymity at this point); another was on Australian radio which might be accessible online now (I shall update you when my roommate is not sleeping); another for an Italian magazine that hasn't yet gone to press.

- No matter what happens, I'm spending Nov. 2 completely sloshed.

- How wrong is it that I'm completely looking forward to the Wilcox, and know I will miss it terribly once it's over? Yes, it's true, I would do anything Dr. O' requests of me, up to and including sharpening all her pencils and tying her shoes. But I'm not kidding: I adore her.

- Ena's right. I need to practice French more. I want so much to speak it fluently.

- I hate finishing books. The finality crushes me. After about two years of reading it off and on, I finally finished The Orchid Thief tonight —

...most people in some way or other do strive for something exceptional, something to pursue, even at their peril, rather than abide an ordinary life.

Yet it does go on. Where should I turn for late-night junk food? What movie would suit such a lazy Friday night? Shall I nap first? I believe I need a white Russian. Perhaps I will accomplish something tomorrow. And I am twenty-two...