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Adulthood.

Soft-soft-soft!

Adulthood….. Is shit, it’s full of bills, five a days, job hunting, promotion chasing, milk purchasing fucking tedium and I’ve finally arrived at it and I find myself wholly unprepared and entirely both under and overwhelmed by it.
As a child I railed against my lack of responsibility and the level of respect my opinions got, I yearned to be an ‘Adult’, they seemed a most exotic species – sure footed, content, happy, authoritative and a being whom was unquestionably correct in all they did or said.
However….
Now I’m here, in my suit and job I feel woefully unprepared and slightly ridiculous. I mean I am just not wired up to deal with shit like tax returns, P45’s, Macrobiotic diets, carbon footprints, polite chit chat, focus meetings and all the other dull drudgery that comes with being an ‘Adult’.
I simply can’t bring myself to care about this kind of balls and oftentimes find myself in these meetings looking around my fellow ‘Adults’ – who all seem to be genuinely enthralled by all this aural guff about sales figures and blue sky thinking – and I wonder if secretly they’re thinking what I’m thinking, which is usually something along the lines of “I wish I lived in a tree house and had an Orang-utan butler named Monty that brought me Tiramisu on roller-skates, because that would be amazing” and (like me) are merely putting on these sage, faux interested, nodding expressions as this is what they believe is expected of them as proper ‘Adults’.
I hope it’s the latter, as the prospect that my body has grown up and left my brain/mindset behind terrifies me – is this going to happen to me? Am I going to turn up first for one of these meetings and bring a note pad so I don’t miss anything? – It feels a little bit like having your foot stuck in the grate of adolescence whilst staring unblinkingly into the headlights of the onrushing juggernaut of mind numbing dreariness, which if it hits will represent the rest of my working life.
Alongside the horrors of my ‘career path’ are the prospects of Marriage and bringing up children, and this is where my brain really starts to baulk. The prospect of me getting married appals me entirely, even if I did, I can’t help but imagine that I’d be stood at the altar feeling slightly like a small child playing some adult role play and that anything that happened that day couldn’t possibly be legally binding.
This all brings me to the bone shaking prospect of me baring progeny. This cannot happen; I keep bumping into and getting added on various social networking sites by former schoolmates whom are happy, doting and no doubt terrific parents. However, the very idea that I would be responsible for another life form’s wellbeing is beyond nonsense; I should probably tell the social services to keep me on surveillance from now on and that way they can confiscate the embryo at the point of conception because anything else would be tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment.
I mean for example. I still shop, like a child shops. When faced with a supermarket and a monthly shopping budget I will –despite making an extensive list – walk out of Somerburys or wherever with five bags of ‘groceries’ that contain nothing more nutritional than a water pistol, enough ice cream to make a rhino diabetic, some star shaped ice cube makers, fizzy pop and absolutely no change.
I can’t be the only one that feels this way, but it feels like this and if I’m not, you’re all doing a sterling job of pretending otherwise.

(This rant originally appeared on Tales of Misanthropia)

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