I Am An Adult

On Sunday I will be 20-years-old. I will have been alive for two decades. That's 7305 days, 175320 hours, 10519200 minutes and 631152000 seconds. I can’t even really wrap my head around those numbers, but I do know that it is a pretty long time.

Here’s the thing though. I don't want to pass 19 years. Not that I want to end it there, I just don't want to have any of the responsibilities that come with going into the second decade. I want to stay around 166550 hours or so. 

It's such a great age, because according to law and, like, social norms, I'm an adult. I can swear, I can drink alcoholic beverages, I can drive, I can vote, I can have sex (Not that that makes it more likely to happen). But according to life and numbers and general societal perceptions of maturity, I'm still a teen, so I can blame my mistakes on my lack of life experience and raging adolescent hormones. But when I turn twenty, the game changes completely.

Apparently, being twenty means being an adult and being an adult means I’m not allowed to do certain things anymore because of age. 

Suddenly...

I’m too old for video games. 
I’m too old for cartoons. 
I’m too old for toys. 
I’m too old to eat irresponsibly. 
I’m too old to like things that were intended for children. 
I’m too old to like superheroes this much. 
And also, I can't like superheroes this much because I’m a girl. (Insert middle finger here). 

Well, you know what I say? I say fuck that. Age has nothing to do with it. (Or gender). It’s about what I enjoy; it’s about what makes me happy when I’m feeling down. It’s about what makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. 

So, screw it. As long as I’m happy, 20 won’t be so bad.