“Another belief of mine: That everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.”
As mentioned many, many, many time before, I fail at being an adult. (Just select the “adulthood” tag at the end of this post and you’ll see.) From constantly forgetting that even though I just paid that bill last month I still have to pay it again this month, to thinking I can function adequately even if I stay up until 1 a.m. reading, it’s just not what I was meant to do. But sometimes, just sometimes, I kind of rock at it. Take this week for example:
Monday: Made this black bean soup and ate off it for three days. Because it was made correctly and tasted good.
Tuesday: Booked a room at the Carolina Inn for a night in December with three of my best friends for our yearly reunion. I’ve always wanted to stay here and this just makes me feel so grown up.
Wednesday: Had dinner with my book club. (Ok, I do this every month. But I’ve been doing so for almost four years, and that’s very adult.)
Made this chicken taco soup in the crock pot and ate it for basically every meal for four days.
Took my first class since college. And then, after having drinks with a friend, sucked it up and took a cab back to my apartment since I was not dressed for the elements. (Yes, had I not been out past 11 on a work night I wouldn’t have needed a cab.)
Friday: Admitted I was too exhausted to function and cancelled my Friday night plans. (And effortlessly slept for 12 hours that night, thus further vindicating my lame, but mature, decision.)
Saturday: Had this happen and only mildly complained.
That would be snow. In October. I can’t promise to not move to Guam if this is a harbinger of things to come this winter, but I do promise to be an adult and at least figure out exactly where it is before I call the movers.
Also, knock on wood times infinity because I’m sure I just jinxed the hell out of myself.