The entire time as I grew up I couldn’t wait to be old enough. Old enough to stay out late, old enough to eat what I wanted, when I wanted to. Old enough to be finally considered an adult. Being adult seemed so cool. I could be in charge, I could make my own rules and live without constantly getting yelled at because I did something wrong.
I somehow found a way to get through high school and college, and upon my graduation I cheered, not only because school was done, but I was about to join the ranks of adulthood and all the greatness that came with it. Greatness, however, doesn’t really exist outside the mind of a child.
With adulthood came responsibilities. I thought I was ready for and could handle the ones that came at me. Adulthood is glamorized on tv. It looks fabulous, I couldn’t wait for it. But once there I realized it was a lot of work. There were bills that needed to be paid, many each month. My car, always running in just about to self-destruct mode. No matter how much money I put into it, there was always more needed. Greedy little bugger. Appliances that would die, because of age, after all it was an apartment, not a palace. Renters weren’t offered the same conveniences as an owner, and I had to make do with broken down, held together with a piece of duct tape and a promise. I learned quickly how to make do. How to maneuver around the hurdles that were put in my path.
Insurance? What the hell good is it anyway. Each month you fork over money because they say so. You wait and when disaster hits and you pick up the phone and call for help. Help is disguised as a condition that needs to be met first. Accidents? A joke, insurance companies aren’t in the business to give away money. They hold on to it with a tight fist and force you to wrestle it away from them. And even then, it’s never enough to cover what broke. The funniest thing that happened? When I moved into, my new place I applied for renter’s insurance. Perfect, I was quoted a reasonable amount but. The customer service rep asked me to hold for a moment, then came back and told me they couldn’t insure me because I was in a flood zone. A flood zone? Seriously, one would think I needed insurance more than most people. But nope, since you might float away, we can’t help. In my opinion, an absurd reason not to allow me to purchase insurance.
The last huge adult type responsibility, groceries. Who knew one small metal grocery cart with wonky wheels that constantly wants to turn to the right, could cost the national debt. Buying things like trash bags, really. I have to pay for something to put items in to throw out. Who came up with that brilliant idea? Between the paper products, soap and cleaning items and I have no more money for actual food. That is a problem in my book.
Adulthood goes on, without an owner’s manual and I’m left walking around in circles asking myself when the fun actually starts.
Adulthood achieved. Fun not included,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 