I used to think that I would be ushered into competent adulthood when I walked across the stage of Taylor University to pick up a leather folder containing a piece of paper that had been practicing its whole life to function as a stand-in for a diploma.
I was rudely shaken out of that dream when I tripped while walking back to my seat after the Great Bestowing of Adulthood. I have since realized that adulthood is not something that is conferred upon you, but for which you have to fight tooth and nail. Thus far, I am nowhere near.
Take this atrocity, for example (mothers, please avert thine eyes):
Yes, I have slept for the last three nights under a pile that contains such items as
1) Clean laundry
2) A resuseable shopping bag
3) A textbook
5) Body lotion
6) Possibly not-so-clean laundry.
Furthermore, I’m a 23-year-old who has a Disney Princess pillowcase.
SuperNanny would have a field day with me.
I have dragged myself from the house before dawn every day this week, and I have yet to get back before self-respecting members of the human race are cozily dreaming of sugar plums. I simply do not have the time to place each item on my bed in its proper place, but I feel compelled to leave my mess where it is under the conviction that a true adult would not simply strew it all over the floor.
Help me, adult-like people! How, oh how, do you do manage to fulfill all of your duties and still maintain living quarters that are actually. . .well, livable? And are there any pragmatic steps I can take to free myself from the burden of sleeping under 15 pounds of laundry? (Besides folding it, of course. I have 2.5 minutes with which to address this situation between tonight and next Friday).
And when do I get that special adult gene that makes me magically able to take grad classes AND live like a human being?