It’s lunch time, and there’s nothing to eat:
“Mom, what’s for lunch?” I yell to an empty house. “Mom?”
I suddenly forget, my god, I’m 26 years old–I’ll be 27 in June, and I definitely haven’t lived in my parents house since I went to college at 18 (other then those amazing summer break months between weird life transitions and undecided majors)… Now, I’ve got my shit somewhat together. Somewhat–I only say that because no one told me how hard it is to go grocery shopping and be responsible.
I hate grocery shopping, I don’t like doing dishes (my current house does not have a dishwasher and the apartment before this had a dishwasher that never even worked) and laundry? What the hell is laundry? If I run out of underwear, I’m going to the store and buying a pack of 8 amazingly attractive granny panties and calling it a day. That is me, being a kick-ass adult. I pay my bills when I forget and they turn stuff off–Oh, you’re a freelancer and you need the internet. Well too bad, you forgot to pay… again. I look at my friends with kids and their messy hair and adorable yoga pants and over-sized sunglasses, and they still look more put together then I feel inside. I’m also like I can’t even take care of myself I don’t know how you do it with that uncontrollable monster toddler clinging for dear life to your leg. I think he needs a nap, hell, I need a nap after a trip to the store.
I’ve got a coffee stain on my shirt, and I used dry shampoo today to conduct a Skype interview for a new freelancing client–this is my life, and I’m totally okay with it. Who cares if I really wanted a taco for lunch? And to my sad realization of digging through my barren cabinets I came up with just enough ingredients to slap a mediocre PB and J sandwich on my plate and get back to work. I think I’m doing this whole adult thing right.