Forgive My Complaints.

Soon I will be 18. And I am not excited. I used to look forward to birthdays like Christmas morning, but I'm dreading this birthday like AP testing and saying good bye. I dread the expectations that are married to February 23rd because as Billy Shakespeare said, "Expectation is the root of all heartache". I try to prime myself by waking up and putting my normal brain in and normal face on, but you can't help but try a little harder to be positive and pretty since you took your first breath so many years ago today and you feel like people should recognize you for it. 

I hate walking into school and feeling a little miffed when people pass me in the hall and forget to say those two silly words: "Happy Birthday". I hate reminding people it's my birthday and making them feel stupid for not saying anything. I hate the week before where you want to shout to the world that your special day is coming up but you don't want to sound self-interested and self-ish. I hate that I want to have a crazy party but I feel dumb having a party centered around me. And I would feel just as dumb having someone else throw a party for me because I still feel awkward being the focal point in a large group. And yet I still long for some recognition?

Mostly, I am not prepared to become that scary number. 18. That number gives you so much responsibility and stature. That number means you are old enough to move out and step onto that ominous platform called "REAL LIFE". I've always looked up to these seniors in high school as being mature and ready to move on from the stress and party that is high school, but I never realized that just because you have been elevated to seniordom does not mean you are ready for adultdom. There is still a child in my bones that wants to spend every afternoon exploring the creek in the back yard. And the last thing I want to do is lose that curiosity and zeal for life. 

I don't want to grow old. 

So forgive my complaints, but a birthday is what I dread the most this year.