I feel like I'm getting old. After all, I'm 18 in exactly one month. This means I'm almost an adult, like I'm actually at that crucial crossover period, pretty much the one Britney Spears so articulately presents in "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman" (really NOT a fan.) The lyrics are bang on though, for her. This is because clearly in Britney's case, she's done quite a lot in her few years. The album sales weren't exactly struggling, she was travelling the world and she was dating Justin Timberlake. Now while JT has never done it for me, there were a lot of teenage girls broken hearted thinking they'd lost their blonde-tipped, poodle haired questionably-named boybandland citizen to the former sexy schoolgirl. She had it all. An enviable position? Well I really wouldn't exchange her life for mine. After all, I'm a fairly satisfied brunette, and I would never wear the red PVC catsuit (sorry boys). But the older I get, the more I feel like I'm not achieving.
Don't get me wrong, I've done a fair amount in my 17 years and 11 months. I've lived in thirteen houses, had (apparently) life-threatening spinal surgery and indulged in the 'model lifestyle' since I was thirteen and decided the size of my thighs were a problem on a par with famine and global warming. On top of this I've found I do enjoy learning, and it's okay to be a geek, because they're the ones we'll all end up working for someday. Be nice to them now so they'll give a job you're unqualified for in the future, without having to sleep with them.
Aside from such pearls of wisdom, nothing I emit could be completely without a distinctly darker undertone. For everything I've learnt, seen, achieved, it's impossible to not feel like you're missing out on something. Grass-is-always-greener thinking is in practise over here, and I'm preparing to start trailing off in avoidance of the point I know I have to make. You can appear to have it all, much like the girl described in Britney Spears' "Lucky". She's got the looks, the success and presumably a certain amount of brain cells, but she's still not happy. She's young, and she's achieved all and more than society tells her she should, but there's a part of her that's not fulfilled.
Eventually, everyone realises that no matter how supposedly beautiful, intelligent, or even wealthy you are, it doesn't make you satisfied with your life. You can have a plentiful supply of friends and acquaintances, yet still be lonely.
I've achieved a fair amount, and it's been a good 6544 days, but in the last couple of hundred of those days I've seen that academic success isn't everything. A bit of romance probably helps. I'm saying probably, because I'm an unreliable source with that kind of information. The eternal singleton, you may say. It's okay though, I'm going to wait till I hit the big 4-0 before I buy cats- until then I'll stick to a Bridget Jones alcohol-infused existence. (It's late and I'm all alone, I'm allowed to be a bit over-dramatic). And so in the end, for all of Britney's 'poignant' lyrics, it was the Beatles that perhaps said it best with "all you need is love".
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