I'm 31 years old and I haven't wrote a song. I haven't had a novel published and come to think of it, I haven't written one. I haven't discovered a cure for a disease and I don't have the answer to world peace. So here I am, almost halfway through my life, facing up to the fact that if I'm going to leave something behind me when I shuffle off this mortal coil, then I'd better do it pretty quick. I think I'm having a mid life crisis. I've taken stock of my life and realised my assets have fallen.
At 18 years of age, I never would have thought that by the age of 30 I'd be plodding through life, taking each day at a time. At 18 I was fired up. I knew it all. I had the keys to the world in the palm of my hand and I would explode with the greatness of myself at every opportunity. What happened? The fire in me has fizzled out, dampened down. At 18 my idea of a good night out was pubbing and clubbing wearing as little clothing and as much makeup as I dared, to shock the 30 somethings like me. I'd party all night, sleep the next day, get up, go out and do it all again. At 31, my pulse starts racing when there's a "Coronation Street" special on TV and I now get a hangover if I so much as sniff the Smirnoff. No more going out dancing the night away in slinky dresses and stilettos for me. Now, I wear a thick scarf and gloves and hide a hot water bottle under my jacket when I go outdoors. Even in the summer. The stilettos and mini skirts have given way to stout shoes and clothes described as comfy, and I hate myself for it because underneath this 31 year old exterior sill beats the heart of that 18 year old girl. At 18 my hair was silky, no skin was taut, my body lean. At 31, I look in the mirror and don't even recognise the person staring back at me. Who is that old tart with the darkened eyes, wrinkles and hair with split ends? Is it my mother... my God no! It's me!
Am I really an adult already? A grown up? Where did the last 15 years go to I wonder. What have I done with the time? Weighed down already with responsibilities and finance, I now have to contend with the ticking of my maternal clock. I swear it gets louder every time I walk past "Mothercare". How I hate getting older. Does it get any better? You - yes you there, reading this, you in your 40's... tell me it gets better. Tell me there's more to look forward to than Dr. Scholl sandals and arthritis. Depressing isn't it? Perhaps I just need to take a break, give myself a kick start into releasing this girl within me instead of the Victor Meldrew character I fear I'm turning into. I know things are getting bad as I've just sent off 3 letters to the council, complaining about things. And I enjoyed it. I find myself saying "When I was your age..." more often than I'd like and "I remember when..." is cropping up more often than it should. Will things get better? Come on somebody, I need to know that it's not all cocoa before bedtime and a good night's sleep. I want excitement. I want to be thrilled, shocked, rocked off my feet. I want to cry, shout, dance, scream, laugh until my teeth hurt, shock people and laugh at people who write letters to the council. I want to be 18 again.
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