So it’s a bit strange to be there, or here rather, in my own apartment, lacking the hammocks and floating TV, but having (joint) ownership of a Wii and, yes, my very own bathroom. I have grown up furniture like a couch and a kitchen table, and I have grown up responsibilities like remembering to drop the rent check in the slot every month. I mean, I’ve been living away from home for six-ish years now, but it takes on a new feeling when it is just you (and yes, roomies, I do miss having you around!).
This is especially novel because I don’t have homework anymore (sorry, grad school buds, but it is wonderful!), and my evenings and weekends are pretty much up to me. Suddenly, having this free time has created a tendency to waste it – “Should I read? Play World of Goo? Knit something other than a scarf? Practice piano? (yes, I am a proud owner of a Yamaha electric keyboard, complete with 100+ musical sounds, including an ability to play Moonlight Sonata entirely with helicopters and gunshot noises. Moonlight Shoot-out?)” and I end watching YouTube videos montages of old 90s cartoons all night (rockin!). Lately I’ve been making lists to guide my thinking on the weekends, which say things like “You must do laundry this time!!!!” But I still get sucked into the internet when I’m not looking.
Of course what was missing from those fantasies was the fact that if you are the sole occupant of a place, you are also solely responsible for cleaning it and restocking such vital items as food. By the way, grocery shopping has officially lost its allure – the excitement of being able to buy ice cream and candy whenever I’d like was quickly shot down by scales, dentist visits and the constant realization, “I have to go shopping again??? But I went last week!”
I guess what I mean to say is that this week I had this feeling of slipping into adulthood, of crossing, unceremoniously, from being a kid to a grownup, however you want to define that. Sure, you could argue that you’re no longer a kid when you become a teen and have your first “my life sucks, everyone sucks” teenage thought, or that you’re no longer a kid when you are allowed to drive down the street to your friend’s house (but not, I guess, to winter formal, even if you actually write a 3-5 essay explaining why you are perfectly capable of driving three miles to the high school using only the back roads). Most people would even point to when you can legally drink, even though turning 21 tends to make you regress in age for a few months. But I guess now that I have a commute, a steady flow of bills and a porch all my own, here I am. An adult. Woot?
Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go watch some old Tiny Toon episodes.
(I thought about adding a ceremonious, “Look! I’m back and blogging,” but it seems that every time I start with that, I drop off by the next week and have that embarrassing proclamation repeatedly greeting/mocking the two people who check in. So I’ll hide it down here.)
