Adulting is hard.

Previously published in The Wave.

Sometimes I wish I could check out of adulthood. It’s hard. I don’t feel like an adult, I feel like I’m a 20 something*, faking it to barely make it.

Last Monday everything was going well. I was caught up with work, the house was in order and I was ready to tackle those home projects that I haven’t had time for – cleaning out boxes in the basement from when we moved four years ago and reorganizing some kitchen cupboards. Then I got called back for a freelance job I applied for. The rest of the week turned to chaos. I couldn’t find my portfolio. I was nervous about negotiating a rate (I’m terrible at it) and next thing I know, after two, one hour and 18 min. trips to midtown, for two, 45 minute meetings, it was Friday. The house was a total wreck, there was no food in the fridge and we had a guest staying the weekend.

It wasn’t just one bad week. I have many unraveling adult moments that I can’t manage to keep up with. And here’s the kicker: I mainly work from home! How is it possible that I can’t keep a handle on things? Am I the only one that’s bad at adulting?

I have trouble remembering to put out the garbage. We often run out of toilet paper and cat food. Frequently, I find myself hovering over the kitchen counter eating lunch using a paper towel as a plate. I probably do this because the dishes are already piled high in the sink, yet I have a dishwasher – this is one of the most perplexing fails. Thank goodness for autopay or the bill collectors would be at the door. Speaking of the door, I hate answering it. Normal adults wouldn’t care or would even get excited when the doorbell rings unexpectedly (DREAD). The interior of the car needed to be cleaned four months ago. The screen on my phone has been cracked since I got too drunk at the Brewery like a month ago. The laundry pile which exists on the floor in the basement is totally out of control and full disclosure… sometimes the cats pee on it.  Do I need a life-coach?

When I was in the city for the interview, I saw many women passing by. You know the ones, their handbags match their high heels and they don’t have cat hair on their black leggings. Leggings, which, by the way, they definitely didn’t buy from Family Dollar because they ran out of clean clothes. Who are these adults and how do they keep their shit together?!

I’ve thought of this a few times on the A train and it popped into my head again on the way on my back and forth trips last week.  “I should just get off at Howard Beach / JFK, by a ticket to someplace warm and beautiful and ditch adulting.” Maybe it’s just the winter blues that’s making me reflect on all this… How many days till summer??

* One could argue I’m on the millennial spectrum!