Adulting is hard.
This phrase, or its partner ‘I don’t wanna adult today’ is used a lot in our household.
It’s always been there in our lives but as of recently, mostly because of the tiny drunken dwarf we’re now obligated to care for, the word ‘Adult’ has seamlessly slipped into our lexicon not so much as a noun but as its less familiar usage, ‘Verb’.
On a quick side note, I believe the word ‘usage’ looks like someone wanted to say ‘sausage’ but was typing too fast. And the little squiggly red lines didn’t tell them it’s not a word and they didn’t proof read then the world went on one sausage poorer.
So Adult the verb. Shall we break it down?
The obliged responsibility to act in a mature, sensible and rational fashion in regards to ones actions, words and the care of others of a lesser age simply because one is older than 21.
Adulting: verb… I think… I’m not good with these things
The act of doing all those things above. Not being an idiot, cleaning the house, feeding people, acting responsible. Basically avoiding any fun activities outside of putting your genitals on, in or around things. Or other parts, I don’t judge.
Yes Adult the Verb is a vocabulary staple in our house. Be it the wife not wanting to go to work or me not wanting to hang out the washing, ‘I don’t want to adult today’ can be heard echoing off the walls of our fortress of solitude. Or it would echo, if we didn’t have all this grown up shit cluttering up the acoustics of a perfectly good echo room.
Ever move into a new house as a kid? How fun was it to stand in the middle of the lounge room and shout random words to hear the echo? Sometimes I do that in our hallway because we don’t have a lounge in there.
Adulting is hard, and it’s boring at times. And if you ever have those brief snippets of childhood recollection you wonder why it is.
Think about it, as a kid all you wanted to do is eat ice cream for breakfast, buy the biggest toy you could get your hands on and act like an idiot all day long.
Fast forward 20-30 years and you have your own income. You have the money to buy all the things you wanted as a kid, you don’t have any parents in your ear telling you that you can’t stay up all night watching cartoons or you can’t eat ice cream for breakfast or you can’t make a sparkler bomb with a soda bulb centre and set it off in the block out the back of your house making all the neighbours shit themselves and call 000.
And what do we do with all this amazing freedom? We sit on the couch fucking around on our phones and drink booze. Maybe have a ciggie in between.
Then we take our meds, go to bed, stare at the ceiling, try not to have a panic attack about how were wasting our lives and hope we can get a good solid 4 hours of sleep because we’re stressed about work. But it’s ok because when we wake up we can walk the dog which is good for you right? Then we can take some aspirin for our hearts and down a green smoothie with a dozen fucking things in it that you wouldn’t put in a garbage disposal for fear of reeking out the house. But we’re certain that it’ll help us live longer in a meaningless existence that’s likely to end abruptly at any moment because our cholesterol is through the god damn roof!
I want you to go back to your childhood. Think of one thing that you always wanted. Put it down as a goal in your little ‘Life diary’ and focus on it with your next mindfulness session or whatever bullshit gets you through the day and achieve that goal!
Make your inner child happy for once instead of feeding it booze and newsfeeds.
Here’s an example of practicing what you preach.
A few years back, Target were having a big ass toy sale.
Did I need a gigantic Death Star that transformed into a 1 1/2ft tall robotic Darth Vader?
Fuck no I didn’t, who the hell needs that at 26?!
But it was on sale. So I got in my car, hauled ass down to Target, walked in with the focus and purpose of a date rapist with a pocket full of roofies at the club on valentines day, gripped that big bastards of a toy tight and strutted right up to the counter.
There were people looking at me, asking themselves if my kid had some kind of inoperable tumour, why the hell else would a 20 something guy be buying the single biggest transformer in a kilometre radius outside of the power generator on the telegraph pole across the road?
But the most satisfying thing was the look on the face of the kid behind me in line as I dropped that bad boy on the counter and asked the old bird with the disapproving look to ‘Ring me up sweetheart.’
He gave a look that pleaded for answers, he turned to his mother longingly. I could see that inside he wanted to know who the lucky boy was that would receive such an extravagant gift.
I didn’t get a chance to tell him on the day because stranger danger, but I hope that in some strange way he’s reading this because I’m about to give him the answer to the question that’s haunted him over the years.
The lucky boy that got that toy? It was me. Childhood me that’s trapped inside big hairy adult me.
And why did I buy it? Because fuck you that’s why. Plead and scream at mommy and daddy all you want, you don’t get a toy like this just because you survive another year as a child. You get a toy like this because childhood you is DEAD. You get a toy like this because it’s a combined triple whammy of CPR, defibrillation and a shot of adrenaline to childhood you in a desperate attempt to revive a corpse that’s been buried for a decade. You don’t just get it for attending life, you have to slave and scream and cry your way through several boring years of being a button down drone to earn a reward like this.
Don’t you look at me like I’m being mean, I’m being real. You want this toy? Get ready to hate life to earn it.
And do you know what the funny thing is? By the time you’re in a place where you can go out and buy it for yourself, you’ll be so destroyed, so emotionally and psychologically destitute that you won’t see a reason for buying it. You won’t even fucking want it. You’ll see it in the catalogue and be all like ‘Oh look, they have tube socks for sale.’
Don’t fall for it little Timmy! Fuck the tube socks! Fuck the Lynx deodorant and body wash pack! Fuck the new garden hose with easy retractable roller! Fuck it all and go buy the toy!
Just once, just once buy the toy. Eat the candy. Watch the cartoon. Stay up all night laughing like an idiot. Do whatever the fuck childhood you wants just once. Even if it’s only for an hour.
Fuck the world and how they say you should behave at your age. Be the big kid.
Because you’re only going to do all this shit once.
And dead inner children are depressing.
I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. You can go back to pretending to care about politics now if you like.
I’ll be here with my Lego making a rad as fuck space ship.