I apologize for the delay in updating, gentle readers. You see, I have been performing important adult functions in the ever-so-cool, Important Adult World. Because I am an adult. Really. I promise.
And if you don't believe that, you can wash your balls with steel wool and everclear.
Like thinking about taxes, for example. Before I lived on my own, I never even thought about bleeding taxes. I mean, honestly, the government takes my money? They wouldn't do that to me! But they do. And just to make their lives easier, I have to keep record of a good number of things - major purchases, doctor bills, pay stubs, etc. Fancy that.
I also buy food, medicine, stamps, dish detergent, fish food, brita filters, sandwich bags, dryer sheets, tin foil, needles and thread, and non-stick cook spray.
And of course, one thing leads to another, so I end up doing all the homey tasks for which the aforementioned items were purchased. Imagine me sewing. (Don't laugh, I rather like it.)
It's a real trip, I tell you, to look back at my childhood from the vista of Important Adult World. I used to fight tooth and nail against cleaning my room. Now, I can't wait to do it on my day off. Back then, it seemed that I would never grow up.
My parents and teachers once regulated every function of my life, from speaking to sleeping, from eating to defecating. Meanwhile, the adults around me enjoyed the freedom of middle age. They belonged to Important Adult World, and I did not. I would remain a grub. At the time, I found this fact desperately unfair.
But at last, I have set foot upon adulthood's soil . . . and . . . well, you're probably expecting me to long for the days of yore, my lost youth,or something like that, but I won't. I love responsibility.
Yes, yes, I can go to R rated movies, and drive, and drink, and party, and get laid, but that isn't what I like best about being away from home. I like working my ass off for a paycheck, buying a bag of apples, and knowing that they are MY APPLES. See that toothpaste? It's MY TOOTHPASTE. I slaved an hour at Modai for that fucking box of cereal. Those socks didn't come easy, either.
It's a good feeling to know that I'm not just a life-sucking tumor on the ass of society. I'm putting something back. I work. I have a job. I'm not a deadbeat or a child. Whoo hoo!
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