Fuck you, Universe, or: Why I know it's going to be a great summer

Because I deserve it.

Last summer you turned me into an underage alcoholic because everything went to hell in a handbasket with little bunny ears riding shotgun.

Wait, what?

I've accepted, by this point in time, that my parents will be divorced for the rest of time. I've accepted that my father may or may not find someone else to marry or be with or what have you. I've accepted that my mother will probably finish out the rest of her life alone. I have accepted, if i ever get married, that it will be a really fucking awkward reception with my divorced parents in the same room. I've even accepted that I will probably not get married.

I have come to term with the fact that my relatives will not be around forever. That cancer, old age, and accidents happen.

I've realized what I've known in my heart for a long time: People come and go, things change, and I need to accept it.

I've reached what might be the best part of my life right now, but I know it can always get better.

I have a great job with amazing coworkers. People that I could never get sick of, even if I drank too much. I know people now that would move worlds for me, people that are irreplaceable, no matter how much shit I jokingly give them.

So I'm going to laugh and cry and love and hate, but I'm not going to fall down. I've had enough of crawling on my knees for problems that are unfixable. I'm going to make my own luck and make my own love and be the best and happiest damnedest mother fucker on the planet.

And nothing is going to stop me.