When I was 7, I thought that adulthood would be ice
cream for dinner whenever I wanted and I could read
Books all night long without being told when to turn out the light.
When I was sixteen, I thought adulthood would be living
on my own with no one to tell me I wouldn’t make it in
“the real world”.
When I was eighteen, I thought adulthood
would be selling my body to the capitalist machine and
yelling at the people I said I loved.
At twenty-three, I think adulthood is finding moments to play
farming simulator games and cuddle with my giant stuffed
duck, Chuck while eating too much cheese and ignoring
Mount Laundry on the horizon.
I think adulthood is trying to chase the high of a scholastic
bookfair. It’s trying to find that hunger for knowledge that
kept me up all night reading series after series of books.
It’s wondering why, no matter how many bubble baths I take
or times I try and fail to meditate, I can’t seem to take care of
myself long enough to remember what it is I’m working towards.
It’s wondering why I need to work towards anything in the first place.
Adulthood is buying Funko Pops and art prints
to decorate my house that I hardly spend time in because I’m too
busy having to make money to afford my house. It’s surrounding
myself with color, sweetness, and cute creatures that remind me
there are still people out there who believe in expression, who said
fuck you to the notion that productivity is equal to validity.
It’s remembering that life happens in between obligations. It’s the
Sunday morning sunrise over Lake Winnebago that stings my
third shift eyes but feels like cotton candy on my skin.
It’s driving around the block one more time so I can listen to the
end of “Day Dreaming” because Aretha understands love is
a vulnerability but it feels so fucking nice to put the shield down.
It’s letting myself believe this sheep-haired man with
the halo irises really means it when he says he loves me. It’s
learning how to live without thinking every good thing is
actually some massive iceberg of shit under the surface.
It’s letting myself live without having to rationalize why I deserve to.
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