By this time on Saturday, I'll be nineteen.

I. Will. Be. Nine. Teen. Years. Old.

No matter how often I say this to myself, it never fails to scare the shit out of me. I don't feel nineteen (not too I'm sure how nineteen is even designed to feel). It's one year over the age of eighteen, and eighteen's kind of a monumental year for a person. So what does that make nineteen?

Now, I understand I'm not getting old; I'm arguably in the prime of my life. Still, though, with another year coming and going, I've come to realize that time is flying by and I'm slowly but surely becoming an “adult.” You know, entering the job market and paying taxes and crap. Who decided that I'm ready for that sort of responsibility?

Will I be also able to find a job, nonetheless locate one that I actually enjoy? I would hope so, but we've all heard the horror stories concerning the perils of landing a job out of college. There are even stats to back it up. Stats. Official numbers sinking my chances of employment.Very uplifting.

Part of getting older is having to live by myself. In an effort to avoid pulling a Matthew McConaughey in Failure to produce, I know I can't just mooch off of my parents forever. Not a way in hell can I ever live and eat myself, though; I get lonely within my dorm room without my roommates after just an hour or two. I'm going to need someone(s) to keep me company, and kill the bugs, and give me a hug following a long day on the job that I don't have yet. Plus, if I hear a miscellaneous noise from down the hall, I can't be expected to react calmly. I will assume it's a murderer/ghost/combo. I'm going to need somebody around to help me out with that.

What about money? We're taught that the most important things in life can't be bought, but, I'm not sure, I want enough to get me some nice shelter and have enough left over so that I can afford to go out every once in a while, maybe catch a film or grab a bite to consume. The prospect of being totally and utterly broke freaks me out, because then what? Everything is expensive. I have an online shopping dependence on fuel and, unfortunately, my taste isn't getting any less expensive.

There are also so many skills I've not mastered yet. Like, when am I supposed to magically know how to remove certain stains from different fabrics? Is the fact that just some sort of innate maternal skill, or what? And don't even get me going on cooking. At what point do I learn to cook three-course meals for our future family? Am I supposed to take classes for that? Someone, anyone, teach me how to make some cool chicken dish. It'll lift an enormous weight off my shoulders. I really don't want to eat Easy Mac throughout my life.

I guess there's really no point worrying, though. No-one can predict the future (and if you know someone who can, please direct me to him or her), so it's pointless getting upset over things that may or may not ever happen. Although it's difficult, I know I just have to be grateful for another year.

Eighteen treated me pretty well: I got accepted to a college that now seems like my home away from home, I graduated senior high school alongside my long-time best friends, and I made some new friends along the way during my freshman year (make new friends, but keep the old, as the old Girl Scout mantra goes). I'm excited to determine what nineteen has in store, and I plan to take it one day at a time.

Life is pretty good, after all.