I hate being an adult sometimes.
Most days actually.
Then I remember I can eat ice cream for dinner…or breakfast even. And then I don’t mind being an adult.
But once I finish my ice cream…I hate being an adult again.
I remember being a kid and everyone around me just wanted to be an adult. My friends would look at me strangely when I wouldn’t join in putting on make up and playing “adult.”
Nope. That shit isn’t for me.
Even now when I am in “grown up” clothes for work, I look at myself in the mirror and think: why couldn’t I be Peter Pan and never grow up? The only good thing about being an adult is watching Netflix, reading books, and making my own sleep schedule.
Just thinking of my to-do list makes me want to sleep.
I guess being an adult isn’t too shabby. As long as I pay my bills and buy whatever food I want. Sometimes, if I am lucky, I can splurge on DVDs, books, or whatever I want. And the plus is….last night I ate ice cream while watching Nikita. It’s nice to be able to do that. Even nicer: watching all the pretty people jump around fighting. So…being an adult means I cannot sit around in my pajamas watching Netflix all day long…but it means certain freedoms. It means eating ice cream and taking naps. It means staying up all night laughing, or even sleeping twenty-four hours straight. Or even, attempting to read as many books in one day as possible….so it’s not all bad all the time.