Monday, June 24, 2013

I may not act like an adult, but you should.

My life is a persistent critical tension between hating being an adult and hating other adults for not acting like adults. 

I am not a successful adult. Last week, I bought underwear on the Internet because I didn't want to do my laundry. I am creating new and inventive suit combinations every morning as I try to match the least wrinkly pants with the least rank, unwashed shirt to survive one more day without washing my clothes. My diet for the last month has been almost exclusively chips, candy and Moscato. I've exercised exactly once since I arrived at this summer work program; anymore, I'm so perpetually tired it's all I can do to convince myself to stumble and wheeze my way up a flight of stairs rather than wait for the elevator. I spend my late nights huddled in a dorm room watching Venture Brothers and hoping some magical food fairy will magically supply me with edibles that didn't come from a college dining hall or the Papa John's up the hill. Sometimes, at night, I just compulsively purchase things on the Internet. Last night I bought a T-shirt featuring two narwhales jousting with face horns that were also light-sabers. I'm not sure why. Yesterday I woke up at 11 and took a three-hour nap at 1. I can't even remember if I paid my bills last month. Probably. But it's entirely possible I've just withdrawn all my tenuous adult feelers into my little summertime shell and forgot to pay rent. 

On the other hand, I sometimes become absolutely outraged at the failure of other adults to act like adults. While I'm up at night gorging myself on taffy and hissing like Gollum at passersby, not acting in the least like an adult, other twentysomethings are out drinking and clubbing and in general acting like twentysomethings. I should not resent them for this. I just had wine for dinner, for heaven's sake. And yet, when groups of my colleagues return to our dorm-hovels at night,  shouting and laughing and tipsy, I peek down through  my blinds at them and fume quietly at them for their apparent inability to act like responsible adults. 

Sharing a dorm with three other people has not dampened my reactionary judge sessions. When I blearily prepare myself my nightly tub, and I glance down to observe several clumps of long, curly black hair smeared along the sides of the shower, my insides shrivel up with fury and disgust. Don't get me wrong; I don't hate my roommate. She's actually quite nice. But gurrrrrrrl, when I have to wipe yo weave out my shower space, I just 

I wipe my legion of spiky leg hairs out of there when I shave. I don't want to find your hair on my body when I shower. I don't dislike your hair. It's nice hair. I just would rather it not be on me when I'm naked and half-asleep while I attempt to maintain some semblance of socially appropriate personal hygiene. 

Bathroom standards are another area I wish adults would adhere to more regularly. I don't know how hair that is long and was clearly once attached to your head ended up on the toilet seat, and I don't want to know, but I sure do want it to not be there anymore by the time I need to use that toilet. And what actual adult human clogs a toilet and then leaves it that way, without alerting anyone? That's just...that's just not okay, and I don't want to be your friend because of it.

And, man, monitor your own belongings. I'm not your mother. I don't want to bring your lunch box back to campus with me because you left it in our office. I can barely keep track of my own stuff. Don't make me keep track of yours too. 

1 comment:

  1. You really need to spend some time back in your own life. Your present lifestyle seems unsustainable. Love, Dad