I’m an Adult?

So, I turned 18. I’m an adult now. That happened.

As of yet, I feel no difference. I don’t feel any older, I’m not having nightmares about taxes and I haven’t told anyone to “turn that infernal racket down!” yet.

But it’s only a matter of time.

My actual birthday was nice — a relatively chilled girls’ night to reinforce every coming of age movie ever.

I had my first legal drink, ate far too much pavlova and skipped my university classes for the day. So I’ve pretty much set the tone for the rest of my adult life.

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But I really think that I need to talk to whoever is in charge around here. I really think there has been some mistake. I’m not ready to be an adult.

I called my favorite year 12 teacher my “school mum” to her face for an entire year. I think she’s scared of me.

I can’t cook anything beyond toast or 2 minute noodle difficulty level.

I don’t understand simple maths.

I zone out mid-conversation and just nod along as someone talks.

I laugh at butt jokes.

I still have real dreams of being an astronaut (despite the fact that I am afraid of heights & small places and have never trained for space).

I have the coordination of a newborn giraffe.

And to top it all off, as people gathered around to sing happy birthday to me last night as I sat in front of my cake, I accidentally lit my hair on fire. Yep. That’s right. Brushed my hair past the candles and lost some split ends.. and some dignity. Luckily I had a quick-thinking friend who rushed over to put the fire out and brushed away the sooty remnants of hair. I hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong – as everyone gaped at me in horror, I smiled away like the bumbling fool I proved to be.

I’m not ready to be an adult!

I don’t have the maturity nor the brains. First it was my hair – who knows what I’ll put on fire next? A baby? A house? Probably not. But there’s always the chance, and I can be tried as an adult now!

I don’t understand taxes, or houses, or life. I don’t know how to cook, or clean or pay attention. I zone out 90% of my life.

I am really not ready to be an adult.

When did I go from this

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to attending university? I still have the mental maturity I did in that picture, and I would love to be dressed the same now.

Time flies (much faster than the bird that just catapulted itself into our window and died. That was one way to cure writers’ block. R.I.P. little bird. I didn’t know you long and you may have been the worst flier the world has ever seen, but you lived life to the full. Probably.)

I don’t think that anyone is going to take me back to childhood, where I arguably belong. I think I’m going to have to age and accept that I am an adult.

But a girl can dream, can’t she?

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