I’ve been getting this sneaking feeling that I’m on the cusp of adulting.  This may seem like a feat for people, knowing they have made it through the roller coaster of youth and the confusion and pressure of someone in their twenties. But for me it causes that mild underlying anxiety of ok, I’m here, what next? I also on occasion respond with an aggressive fuck no as well. I started my thirties with a bang. Everything changed. Relationship. Job. City. Now new home! But this feeling of adulthood occasionally creeps over me as I walk from my Glebe apartment to work, where the streets are lined with lamp posts that reminds me of Narnia. Glarnia. 

This apparent adulting disease I am pre-diagnosing myself with can be shown through many things. Take for example when the new boy and I went away to Montreal for the weekend. We were going to have the MOST CRAZY WEEKEND EVER! And in order to prepare for it, I needed to pack my gamut of vitamins, enzymes and herbs in order to make it through the weekend. Ginger for the nausea I will get after pretending to drink like a teenager only to realize my liver is no longer as spunky as it used to be. Digestive enzymes for when I eat whatever I want forgetting that my tummy has a limited list of things it will except without forceful punishment. Probiotics just to minimize the affect of me rogue eating/drinking. B12 just to make sure I had the energy to make an attempt at being crazy. And of course Advil for when I really do over do it. I don’t normally get to that point these days (shocker) as I now seem to have a fairly adult tolerance and can usually show restraint (what?). Not always, not always.

I haven’t completely cloaked myself in the gown of adulthood, nor do I ever hope to. But making multiple trips to Ikea to buy furniture for our place has made me feel like I’m trying the cloak on. I bought two rugs for the apartment for God’s sakes. I never thought I would need to buy a fucking rug ever, let alone two. How so terribly dull, but I actually got pretty pumped about it (also because we were currently using rugs we found in the garbage). And now I like the two we bought so much, I want another. Must get out more!

The other stupid adult thing I bought was a humidifier or as well call it, the expensive cat drinking fountain. One morning, after about a week of living here I woke up with lips so dry they were bleeding. For those of you who know my obsessive compulsive moisturizing habits, you know this would just not do. I immediately went out and got a humidifier. I got a design where the water runs down the front of it when it’s on (which is probably the reason I have to pee so much). My cat has become obsessed with it. When I fill it up at night he comes running until I turn it on and then he sticks his head right into it to lap up the water therefore giving us the gift of cat saliva in our humidifier mist.

Back to Ikea though. I am a master at Ikea furniture. I start off confident, then seeing the number of screws, my confidence waivers but I usually have a beer in my hand. After the second beer I realize that I have totally fucked it up but can salvage it as I recognize the error of my ways. I only got so turned around once that I actually called them to ask if they had put it on sale because it was faulty. As I was on the phone with the lady I realized what I had done, so I quietly told her I may have a solution and then thanked her very much for her time.

Another odd adult thing that has been happening more and more are people complimenting my hair. Everyone loves the colour of my streaks and ask me where I get them done. I tell them, they too can have these streaks as they are just solid chunks of grey coming in in giant blocks on my head. I tell them to add some more stress to their lives, perhaps drink more and add the odd visit from anxiety and they can also have this amazing hair style.

I am such an adult I have hydro bills! Never in my previous rental/house sitting/homeless situations have I been responsible to pay a hydro bill. Well technically I am paying half of it but I demanded it be under my name so that a bill could come to the house with my name on it, that I could then pay and possibly actually afford it. I want to be in a luxurious, over sized bath robe, sipping port and smoking a cigarette out of those long old fashioned black thingies when the post man drops off the bill with my name on it. (I’m not sure why my idea of being an adult is being an extremely wealthy human. Perhaps this is the reason I think I may never actually make it to adulthood). 

Lastly, although I never actually feel like an adult at my job because of my weird (nonexistant?) let’s say experimental management style, I do indeed hold a job where I make a wage I can live off of. No more hiding from those bills, no way. Now I just ignore them and spend the money I am actually making on rugs! And the stupid white grip stuff you put under the rugs!  Anyways, it’s been an interesting ride but I am now living in a pretty freaking nice place, within walking distance from my work, with the new man. And tiger pip, my giant orange puss. And occasionally I feel like an adult but then I come home, make a fort in the middle of my living room with all the blankets and pillows in the place with the boy, eat pizza, drink beer and binge Netflix. Perhaps this is in fact adulthood.