To quote Marie, this blog is also dying. It's obvious. The thing is...I can't really permanently stop writing in it. It serves as an archive to what I now call my formative years (even though they were about three years ago), and I think if I keep writing, I'll be able to look back and observe a maturity progression. I'm already doing that, anyway; I keep looking back at various entries and wondering how the hell people could stand reading them.

Well, it's Christmas Eve; the festive season has completely passed me by due to long hours at work and mountains of homework from school. I've noticed it, of course, (how could you not?), but it hasn't affected me, at all. Not the slightest, smallest twinge of excitement at all. Not anymore.

This time was bound to come, of course. I'm still feeling pangs of loss, though. Christmas was such a exciting time of my life for about fourteen years, and the last two have seen me mature to the point where I can see through it. But, I'll never feel those twinges again. Dad's told me that Christmas is fun when you have young kids, but who's to say I'll have children? I haven't exactly warmed to the idea so far.

This is maturity. This is approaching adulthood. When I was young, I thought being an adult would feel grand and fine and important; from what I'm experiencing, the beginning of adulthoodm seems to be comprised of contemplation; "...so that's how it is."

And so it goes.

Joe's back. He came home a few days ago. I never did tell him how much I missed him, and I doubt I will. We're the typical siblings; we'll probably remain stoic to the very end. I've barely seen him, but it's lovely to have him home. We suspect he'll spend New Year up in Liverpool, with his new friends. Either that, or stay home and get blind drunk with some of his old ones still in Cheltenham. Either way, there'll be booze involved.

I'm tempted to a full year round-up, even though I still have a week left. Anything could happen. But...this has been the year. It's had everything. GCSEs, writer's course, gay pride, new and old televisual obsessions, sixth form, new friends, old friends, politics, love sickness, love confessions (well, it wasn't love, but I confessed its equivalent nonetheless. Also had it confessed to me.), Stewart, Colbert, Barrowman, Aygeman, Norton...

I grew up this year. Not completely, absolutely not completely. I still have a large streak of childishness left in me; anyone who was at Diana's party last night can tell you that. Doesn't everyone? No one ever completely grows up. But last year, I was on the cusp; I've moved forward off the cusp about a hundred miles. At least, that's how I feel. It's terrifying, and a little sad when I think about what I've left behind, but at the same time it's exhilarating and unknown and liberating.

The adventure's beginning. Next year I turn seventeen. I'll drive, I'll do AS exams, I'll (hopefully) go to China, I'll visit universities, I'll choose universities. I will, at some point, say the hardest goodbye to someone I think I've ever had to say. But again, that's good, in a way; we need to be unhappy sometimes, to grow up. Isn't it all part of the process?

Plus, I'll do all the less important things as well; I'll keep beating people up and being beaten up at Tae Kwon Do, I'll be glued to the telly, I'll eat my weight in cucumber and biscuits, I'll keep teching and attempting to understand why the tech crew eat chocolate pudding from Farmfoods. I'll have fun. It all balances out.

I'm sorry if I'm rambling, but I've been thinking about this all day. It's been brought on by the Christmas fandango surrounding everyone, I think.

Better go. The radiator is becoming cold, and I ought to be sociable and finish watching Pirates with my parents. Plus, I need to put Joe's present under the tree.

Have a good Christmas, everyone. Enjoy yourselves, and enjoy the new year! (Watch Mr Jools Holland, if you can.)

Rosby, almost-an-adult-but-not-quite, signing off for now. Talk to you soon.