I had always assumed that adulthood was one big fun party where the drinks were free and your time was your own…
Boy, was I uneducated.
I think I’ve fallen into the pit of ‘I don’t care about…’ over the past month. Seriously, my house is a mess, which let’s face it, happens when you’re a single thirty something who enjoys a sleep in over getting up to vacuum on the weekend, and just recently I’ve cared more for a Grey’s Anatomy character (Christina Yang I’m looking at you) than I have my own dog (sorry Jack, I do love you, honest!).
Whoever says the word responsibility to me next will get a punch in the face.
I’m tired. I’m sick of being told what I should and shouldn’t do -insert a John Locke’s angry “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” here – and quite frankly, I’ve had the crappiest week where judgemental people think their bullshit stinks less than mine.
Well they can shove it.
I’ve had just about enough of being an adult today and it’s only 8:30am. I’m going to spend the rest of the day at a five year olds birthday party patting cute little animals and feeding hungry birds (it’s a hobby farm party, don’t worry, not feeding the kiddies to raptors!).
I am then going to do what adults were promised they could do when they signed the ‘I’m over 18’ contract. I’m going to a bonfire, going to drink a rediculous amount of alcohol and then I’m going to regret it all tomorrow morning.
Adulthood, it really is a trap.