I’m not one to pride myself on my adult-like behavior. I’m not too fond of adulthood, to tell you the truth. Yes, I had a sometimes lousy childhood, but that doesn’t mean that I should like my adult years any better. I’m especially anti-responsibility. And by responsibility I mean:
-working at a job just so that I can have money to pay my bills
-going to the bank to deposit money to pay my bills
-paying my bills
-doing errands on the weekend
-looking forward to the weekend because that’s the time I can truly enjoy myself and get my errands done
-vacuuming, damning the man, etc.
But every now and then I look at some of the things I’ve done and I get a little excited. Take the past couple weeks, for example:
I set up a checking and a savings account at a credit union. I’ve been giving my money to a corporate bank for ten years now and it’s finally time I say enough’s enough. It felt pretty good to make the switch. This is how I know I am an adult–when opening a bank account feels good.
I sent a story out last week, and I just finished fine tuning another. It’s ready to be printed and mailed.
I have made a list of things to do and have crossed most of those things off the list. This alone creates a feeling of accomplishment.
I rearranged my furniture. My desk is now in my living room, and even though I rarely use it, I like that it’s in a place where I’ll at least look at it every day. Once we shift into standard time, I will move my tv into what used to be my office.
This, too, is how I know I am an adult. Adults have offices. I have one in my house and one at work. I am a two-timing adult.