Is anyone truly happy with their age?

Don't worry. This is not one of Carrie Bradshaw's mind-blowing columns about dating and sex. You know, at the seven minute mark of every SATC episode, where Carrie has experienced some life changing event on the sidewalk or while shopping with Samantha, and it becomes the topic of her latest column? Well, if you have a penis you probably don't know what I'm talking about, but for the straight ladies, you most likely do. I am, however, seriously asking the question, Is anyone ever TRULY happy with their current age? When we were young and donning Northern Getaway outfits, we filled our seemingly boring days with fictitious games such as House, Doctor, Nanny, Teacher or Chef- all games during which we pretended to be triple our age, grown up, settled into adulthood and a shiny career; a time and a place in which we all could not wait to be! I cannot count the number of times I would put on my mother's awkwardly unattractive kitten heels she wore to Church sometimes and painted my lips red and "pretended" that I was living out my one true dream as an "adult." In my mind, being an adult was COOL, fun and simply WAY better than being a kid in every possible way. However, as I sit here at my desk (oh god, sorry if I sound like Carrie), unemployed, unmotivated, bloated from eating my emotions, and on the verge of depression courtesy of the fact that I have just completed my third year at one of Canada's top universities and the best gig I could score myself was a 15 hour work-week at my school's Sports Shop, I'm really loathing my eight year-old self for actually wanting to be an adult with responsibilities, and sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety attacks and heart palpitations. If only I knew that being an adult can actually suck. We were all so naive believing that adulthood would be glamorous, liberating, full of choice and opportunities. Oh, how we were wrong. I cannot tell you the number of times in the last year I have longed for the carefree days of my childhood. My most pressing concern as a child was whether or not my mother had packed me a Joe Louis or an apple for recess snack (yeah, I was a fat kid, obviously I crossed my stubby little fingers for a Joe Louis), or whether or not my soccer team would be assigned a "cool" team name (I remember getting White Caps one year and I was so pissed off- I really wanted to be the Rebels) or whether or not my mom would let me stay up until 8:30 to watch the latest episode of Full House with my sisters (I don't think I've ever not watched a re-run...Peggy never let me watch Full House, ugh). My point is, the woes and worries of children are jokes compared to what we are expected to deal with as young adults, and I find it so ironic that as a child I could not wait to be an adult, and would have skipped adolescence just to get to the time and place where your parents couldn't dictate what to wear, eat, and the hour of bedtime. Although I do enjoy being my own life boss, I am really not that good at it. Cell phone bills, group projects, birth control, job interviews, anxiety, emotional baking, negative balance bank accounts- these types of things which we deal with on a regular basis, were definitely, in no way, components of my childhood game of "Adulthood." I would do anything right now to be a child again- to have my meals made, my bills paid, absolutely ZERO life responsibilities except to stay away from strangers. As children we got away with everything! The number of times I pissed my bed and my mother felt SORRY for me? If I called my mother and told her I pissed my bed she would be embarrassed and tell me to grow up and get my act together. As children, there is no act to get together, no job to show up to, no bills to be paid, no readings to be read. Life for children is blissful, carefree, and something I pine after far too often these days. I could even opt for being 65 right now, retired and somewhere warm. Yes, I probably wouldn't look as good, my skin wouldn't be as soft and I'd probably have chronic this or chronic that and be wearing a diaper, but at least I'd be less stressed! Old people aren't even allowed to be stressed- it's bad for their hearts! Seeing as no one has managed to design a fully functional time machine yet (google "Time Machine," though, the shit that will pop up is somewhat alarming), escaping to my wonder years is unfortunately not an option. Thus, as far as I can tell, I'm going to have to find the courage and deal with my quarter-life crisis head on, or stick it out until I'm 65 and living what my 21 year-old self perceives to be the "dream."