Tonight, when the clock hits twelve and the date rolls around to the 23rd, it'll be officially done—my years as underage drinker, technically—but really, the way I see it, it's the final call for teenage life, for stupid growing up.

I'm excited, sure, but I can't help but be a little sad—I'm getting older and there are no real age barriers left to cross that I'm looking forward to, unless you count the ability to rent a car at a cheaper rate, which honestly, I'm not too concerned about.

And sure, it'll be nice to not have to worry, to squint my eyes a little and keep my head down as the bouncer glances at my ID, for that flicker of doubt that lingers each time to be completely gone—but by now, I've penetrated the forbidden walls of the bars on campus. I know what Smoke's is like, the guys at Blarney sometimes remember me. I've slurped frozen strawberry margaritas at Mad 4 Mex; I've had beers at New Deck. It's nice and I rue the days of drinking Banker's club within the thin plaster walls of the high rises, but the final thrill of being able to do it legally doesn't mean that much anymore.

What I miss is something from a long time ago—back when everything was just a big empty slate to be written on. What's college going to be like? Who knows! Will I make it ok? Dunno! Who will I meet? What will they be like? No clue!

I have a year left, but from the three I've finished, I know how fast those slip away. I know it won't last long enough—though maybe by the time it's all said and done, I'll realize it's time to move on.

It's not ancient by any means, I'm sure some day I'll be able to look back and laugh—but today in class (the last class I'll attend as a junior) there was this girl, a friend of someone's, just up to get a feel for college life. She was a sophomore—just 16—and I couldn't help remember turning 16, how exciting it was when the first of the age-related barriers, the driving licence, came within grasping distance.

My first driver's license expires tonight at midnight, though I'll continue using it for the next few weeks anyway, until I get a chance to visit home—or my mother's house, since home seems to be here these days—for a few days and renew it. It seems so strange to look at the red print stating "Junior Operator until 04-23-00" once held a great deal of importance—that I once cared a great deal about not being able to legally drive passengers under the age of 18 who were not related to me.

I was a different person when I was 16, which I hope doesn't sound as melodramatic as it probably does. It's just that a lot has changed in the past five years I've been carrying this plastic card around. I'm still 5'4", still technically a Massachusetts resident who lists the same permanent address because nothing else seems permanent, but there's something about the picture—and it's not just the hair color, or a slightly different tweezing of the eyebrows—that's considerably younger.

Up until then, all of the larger tragedies in my life had happened to other people and I'd just absorbed them vicariously and indirectly. I'd never imagined the things that could happen—that would happen. I'd never spent more than a few days away from a member of my immediate family. I'd shared a bedroom my whole life. I thought I knew what love was, but I'd never actually had my heart broken, or watched anyone else's break for that matter, I'd never dealt with a truly dangerous situation and I didn't have any clue where I'd end up along the way.

I still don't entirely, but I have my ideas—I have a better sense of what I can and can't do. I know what I want (whether or not I'll tell you—another thing entirely, but some things never change) and while I don't know what obstacles may come along the way, I'm at least looking out for them now.

[04:58 PM EST] [5]