Happy birthday, you're a jerk now!
I’ll be fourteen years old tomorrow.
Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy one year closer to your death!... Oh wait.
I used to be very excited by my birthday; after all, it was cake and party and movies and ice skating day. But recently I’ve cared less and less about how old I am. It just hardly seems to matter. I have the first birthday in my eighth grade class and for that reason, everyone remembers it. I was the first teenager, the first one into double-digits. I almost wish everyone would forget so that I could, as well. I don’t want to keep a record of how long I have left to live.
I’d rather not have to do all the things people my age are supposed to do. I’m supposed to wear make up, have my first joint, hate my parents, neglect my school work. I’m not the kind of person who loses their head every time a tragedy rolls over, who screams and throws fits because they lost their favorite skirt, but that’s what the age I’m approaching is supposed to do.
I know these years teach a lot of lessons, but I’d rather skip all the hormonal outbursts, excessive masturbation, angry shouting, and smoking. I know that I have the option not to be a part of the teen machine, but it doesn’t matter to anyone besides me if I do or I don’t, because it’s everyone’s assumption.
Furthermore, my birthday marks another year closer and another year’s responsibility. I don’t want any more responsibility; I can hardly contain the little that I have. Maybe I’m immature because I don’t read Gossip Girl or worry if it’s okay to like a boy that has a small penis. Maybe all the trash I don’t want to absorb makes me younger in personality than everyone else.
I don’t know, it just seems all these expectations about dangerous behavior are not just expectations but a prediction for the future. I’d hate to become one of the girls who’ll stop playing soccer because that’s for guys, who’ll wear the shortest skirt they can get out of the house with, or who’ll hide all her booze under the bed.
Obviously, this is all my choice. It comes down to my will power to stay away from the teenage mobs and their irrational behavior. At some point, I’m going to have to assume the responsibility that comes with age, but I think I can hold out for just a little longer. I can hold out.
Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy one year closer to your death!... Oh wait.
I used to be very excited by my birthday; after all, it was cake and party and movies and ice skating day. But recently I’ve cared less and less about how old I am. It just hardly seems to matter. I have the first birthday in my eighth grade class and for that reason, everyone remembers it. I was the first teenager, the first one into double-digits. I almost wish everyone would forget so that I could, as well. I don’t want to keep a record of how long I have left to live.
I’d rather not have to do all the things people my age are supposed to do. I’m supposed to wear make up, have my first joint, hate my parents, neglect my school work. I’m not the kind of person who loses their head every time a tragedy rolls over, who screams and throws fits because they lost their favorite skirt, but that’s what the age I’m approaching is supposed to do.
I know these years teach a lot of lessons, but I’d rather skip all the hormonal outbursts, excessive masturbation, angry shouting, and smoking. I know that I have the option not to be a part of the teen machine, but it doesn’t matter to anyone besides me if I do or I don’t, because it’s everyone’s assumption.
Furthermore, my birthday marks another year closer and another year’s responsibility. I don’t want any more responsibility; I can hardly contain the little that I have. Maybe I’m immature because I don’t read Gossip Girl or worry if it’s okay to like a boy that has a small penis. Maybe all the trash I don’t want to absorb makes me younger in personality than everyone else.
I don’t know, it just seems all these expectations about dangerous behavior are not just expectations but a prediction for the future. I’d hate to become one of the girls who’ll stop playing soccer because that’s for guys, who’ll wear the shortest skirt they can get out of the house with, or who’ll hide all her booze under the bed.
Obviously, this is all my choice. It comes down to my will power to stay away from the teenage mobs and their irrational behavior. At some point, I’m going to have to assume the responsibility that comes with age, but I think I can hold out for just a little longer. I can hold out.
Hey man I feel the same way about responsibility. My b-day is in June and the thrill of it's my birthday had worn off.
MikeIsMine!!!, November 14th, 2007 at 05:02:06am
Thanks, much appreciated.
Wow, that's so different from last year. I think my friend posted something on my name, because I got all these messages about how it sucks from then on out.
Miley Cyrus, November 14th, 2007 at 03:52:13am
Just because you turn 14 doesn't mean that everything's gonna change. I didn't feel any more mature on my birthday than I did the day before my birthday. It may seem like all that stuff happens just because you're a teenager, but that's not it. All of it just happens. You don't have to smoke any joints or anything; you don't have to live the stereotype. No one just assumes that you're a bad kid! It's gonna be fine, trust me!
All of the things about sex and drugs, it doesn't happen with all girls. It doesn't happen unless you want to. No one's gonna assume it happened.
And about the 5th paragraph, everyone's like that. You will get a tiny bit more responsibility as time goes on, but it's not just gonna happen all at once, and it's pretty easy to get used to when it comes a little at a time.
Maybe I didn't help at all, and maybe this was a stupid comment, but I'm just trying to tell you that everything's gonna be ok :)
lishaaaaa, November 14th, 2007 at 02:43:42am