Category Archives: adulthood

Adulthood is Stupid


I’ve been an adult for a few years now. I’m 24. I’ve lived on my own, paying my own rent and my own bills, for about two years.

Being an adult is stupid. It’s the biggest nope that ever was.

So far I’ve discovered that even though your peers are all adults, the playground bullies haven’t left. They’re just taller, and usually they have more money and influence than you.

Everything you thought would be great about adulthood when you were a kid comes with strings attached. You can eat whatever you want, but you also have to pay for it. You don’t have to go to school anymore, but still have to park in front of a desk for eight hours anyway. You can go wherever you want, but you need to think about how much gas will cost and where you have to be tomorrow and whether or not you’ll be fired if you go away for too long.

Being an adult apparently requires having a lot of Stuff even though Stuff isn’t really necessary for a happy existence. If you don’t want a huge house and want to build a tiny one, there are laws against that. If you don’t want to pay a huge power bill and switch to solar, there are laws against that. If you want to start a small business or be self employed so you can skip the rat race and have a job that allows you to escape the articifical and stressful environment of corperate America, you’ll get taxed out of doing that pretty quickly.

Your whole life you’ve been told to go to college so you can get a job. So you go to college and learn to do something you’re good at. Trouble is, the new expecation for entry-level positions usually requires 1, 2, 3, 4, even 5 years of experience in that particular job field before they’ll even think about hiring you. You need both a college degree and real-world job experience before you can get paid so you can eat and pay rent. While you were busy studying away, making As, and working part time to ease costs a bit, all the jobs you care about have decided your degee isn’t good enough for them anymore. Most of us take the first job we can find, even if it’s a job we hate, and we don’t get the chance to gain experience for the jobs we’d actually enjoy.

You discover pretty quickly that renting a living space eats all the money you could be putting towards a house, especially since rent costs as much as a morgage payment if you want to live close to where you work. So you don’t buy a house and you don’t buy a new car because you don’t want to be in debt. Yet, as a newer adult, you’ll probably get flak for not going into debt for things you can’t afford in an economy you didn’t ruin. You’ll want to skip it all and live in an RV or live out of your car so you can actually go see the big world you live in, but refer to paragraph 4. Also, gas prices.

Even if everything is going well for  you in your corner of the world (relatively small rent, a job you enjoy or at least tolerate, a fairly healthy social life), there’s the rest of the planet. It’s exploding. If there’s not a plague, there’s an earthquake. People are killing other people because they’re different from them. Rapists go free while their victims are punished for being victims. Human beings are still sold as slaves. Children die for the crime of being conceived. Riots. Wars. Rumors of wars. And you can’t do anything about it.

The worst thing about adulthood is that even though everyone who is an adult has experienced adulthood and knows how hard it is, very, very few adults have any compassion for other adults. You can’t talk about the injustices and absurdities of this oversized playground without some snot-nosed kid in the sandbox yelling “Grow up and deal with it!”

Oh, sure, we’re growing up and dealing with it, but that doesn’t fix a single thing.

The only thing about being an adult that’s worth talking about is marriage.

Marriage is the best.

Because at the end of a long day of dealing with all of the above, you can come home, and your Spouse is there. You can make dinner together, talk about little things or big things or medium sized things, laugh together, dream together. You can shut all the nonsense out for a while. You don’t have to be what anyone expects you to be. You can be kids, sort of, for an hour or so before bed.

And somehow, by some sort of deep magic, those few hours are worth all the rest.


I’m Back


Hello, loves.

I’m back.

It’s been too long.

I’ve been married for almost one full year. I’ve got another year of graduate school under my belt. I’ve had a big girl grown up job for a year.

I’ve barely written a thing.

So I’m back.

I started this other blog, and it scares me. My subject matter scares me. There’s so much I don’t know and I’m passionate about the topic but very poorly equipped to talk about it. There’s so much that could be said and I can’t possibly say it all at once.

I find myself in the same predicament I was in when I started this blog almost five years ago. I was in college, working towards a degree in creative writing but hardly doing any writing at all. I had hoped once I got out of college I’d have a job that would pay me to write things, but I’ve no such luck. And I haven’t written because I haven’t felt free to write and I haven’t been making the time to do so.

I need a place where I can write like me.

So I’m back.

Irony: the Opposite of Wrinkly


One of the most fun parts of being a bride-to-be is dress fittings.

I’m a little different. I didn’t want to walk into a shop and try on a ton of dresses. I know what’s fashionable right now, and frankly none of it appeals to me. What I wanted–miles and miles of ivory lace–would cost an arm, a leg, and my firstborn. My dress budget was $300. For that amount, I could purchase the bodice of a brand new dress that I didn’t like.

My mother got her lace and organza dress for $300, but that was thirty years of inflation ago.

I remember being a little girl and staring at pictures of my mother in her wedding dress. I remember specifically that there was a black and white picture of her in a frame on the table next to my grandmother’s armchair. When I wasn’t in my grandmother’s lap being read to, I was on the floor at her feet, holding the picture of my mother and hoping I could be half as pretty when I grew up.

Mother offered me her dress when a hundred internet searches did not yield a dress I liked.

I’ve always adored that dress, but I’ve adored it on my lovely mother. I’ll admit to being skeptical about trying it on. My mother looked absolutely majestic in those full organza sleeves and full, ruffled skirt and high lace neckline. There was no way I could fill it or do it justice.

Yet up went the zipper without a catch. The bodice fit like a glove. I loved how it felt. I loved how the skirt moved. I loved the subtlety of the beading (almost all dresses these days are covered in sequins–someone explain that to me). I adored the lace.

My mother is letting one of my dear friends alter the dress to fit my tastes more specifically. She practically thrust the scissors into her hands and said “Make it look like my daughter.”

Out came the netting. Gone are the ruffles. The sleeves and the neck are a work in progress. My friend brought it for a fitting.

Now, I’ve been watching what I eat. I’m not in any great need to lose weight, but I’m a bride, for heaven’s sake. I’m trying to coax my skin to clarity and make sure that the dress’s perfect fit remains a perfect fit. I am not one to starve myself, but I’m all about being cautious and keeping up with my running and yoga.

I tried on the dress.

It’s loose, dash it.

A lot of brides are fighting off the pounds days before the wedding. They crash diet, living off of cottage cheese and pretzel sticks for weeks on end. They deliberately buy a dress two sizes too small just to give them proper motivation to drop those last few pounds they’ve been meaning to shed. I’ve heard the story over and over again. I always thought I’d be one of them, but hey, I like food too much.

And yet the dress is loose.

So my official assignment from the seamstress, my bridesmaids, and both of my mothers is to eat more ice cream and do fewer planks.

I can live with that.



Here’s the thing about Mondays:

Nothing looks overly optimistic on a Monday. Even with a fresh start or a new beginning. Even if the sun is shining.

Honestly, you can’t expect too much.

Some days you’re Holly Golightly. Some days you’re Cat. Some days, you’re both.

Every Monday I realize that one of the most twisted results of the fall was that one day men would have to survive not by fighting the thorns in the earth, but by locking himself as far away from the earth and sky and open air as he can for eight hours of every day just so he can afford to eat.

I know there’s a day coming when that won’t be necessary anymore. And that day will last forever.

But the meanwhile can be a Monday sometimes. And the weekend can seem forever away.