Holy Shit. I’m An Adult.

I.  Am.  An.  Adult.

Has anyone else had this epiphany and after accepting this reality….. promptly had a panic attack?

I am suddenly struck with fear.  At the ripe ol’ age of 29, I have realized that I am an adult.  Are you fucking kidding me?

When did this happen?  When did people start giving me responsibilities?  As previously mentioned,  I can barely keep houseplants alive.  How am I expected to be an adult and keep myself upright and breathing when I can’t even keep a spider plant from keeling over?  People trust me with projects, day to day tasks, and occasionally children.  That last one should give you the heebie jeebies.  And now to find out that I am pregnant with my own mini me who will have no choice but to trust me to care for it.

I am allowed to drink alcohol, and this can’t be safe.  For me or the general population.  Not so much alcohol recently, but in the not so distant past, I was able to run amok without adult supervision.

I still hate making the bed, but am expected to as grown up behavior.  This topic has had much discussion in our household as it is one of Kevin’s pet peeves.  I swear I’m doing better at it, if only to keep Kevin from having a nervous breakdown.  Our relationship is all about compromise.  I make the bed and he allows me to leave baskets of unfolded clothes in the bedroom.

I may be an adult, but left to my own devices, my entire nutritional intake would consist of Laffy Taffy, Toaster Strudels, and Crystal Light.

I barely act my age, and yet have survived this many years with out a parental figure caring for me.  I know, its bewildering.

I sit alone in my house and contemplate how the hell I got so far without serious injury, how I have not died of food poisoning or electrocution.  I am astonished that I have kept a job for a couple of months, let alone 6+ years.  And probably the biggest and most important thing thus far, I found a man who can stand to be around me for more than 10 consecutive minutes.    This man… this man should be knighted.  Or have a psychiatric evaluation…  whichever comes first.  He seems to have realized that he is stuck with me.  Stockholm Syndrome has never been more beautiful.


Praying won't help you.


Still, being an adult doesn’t come without its perks.  I can live solely on Toaster Strudels if I choose.  And even though it is frightening that I am allowed to consume alcohol…. it’s pretty fucking awesome!  With my mighty adult-like wisdom,  I have learned to NEVER press the “reply all” button.  I don’t have a bedtime and can still watch cartoons.  Being an adult means that you can wear lingerie with coordinating ears/tail/whiskers on Halloween and call it a costume. All of these reasons (and so many more) make the sporadic panic attacks worth it.

4 thoughts on “Holy Shit. I’m An Adult.

    • Thank you. Please feel free to subscribe. I have been soooo busy these million weeks. I’ve written and never posted. But your comment made me go “hey! I have some shit to post”! Thank you.

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