Adulting Is Hard

After twenty three years of living, I am finally realizing that maybe I am just not cut out for adulthood. I moved out of my mom's house about two and a half years ago and have been living alone in my apartment ever since. How have I survived this long? I do not know. For a long time, probably the first two years, I basically lived off of microwave meals. Fairly recently, I realized if I want to be a healthy, functioning adult, I might want to start cooking and eating fresh foods because that's what adults do, right? I also decided to start trying to put effort into my appearance daily because when I get into the real world and have a big girl job, I assume I will be expected to look presentable and professional every day. Basically, my panic about my upcoming graduation and entrance into the "real world" has made me realize that I better learn how to "adult" and fast. But being an adult is turning out to be far more difficult than I had anticipated and I am quickly learning that maybe adulting just isn't for me.

I can't use my stove or oven without setting off the smoke detector.

The first time it happened, I had thought I'd try to be cute and cook dinner for a boy I liked. As I was making the sauce for our pasta, I began to notice the milk seemed to be absorbing too fast and the sauce wasn't very...saucy. Suddenly, the smoke alarm started blaring and he had to turn it off for me. I was mortified. I literally felt like Cher in Clueless when she attempted to bake for Christian. Tried to show a guy my domestic side and I almost started a fire. Real cute. Unfortunately it was not just a one time thing and I have set it off many times since, so now I keep my step ladder next to the smoke detector and take the battery out when I cook. It's a perfectly safe solution.

I am perpetually late.

I was four days late coming out of my mother and I have been late to everything ever since. I guess it all comes down to my terrible time management, but I just can't be on time. Even on the rare occasions when I am set to be on time, something happens that makes me late. Whether it be a train or an oil spill on the highway, there will always be something to ruin the pride I feel when I leave on time. If I'm being honest though, I almost never leave on time. My chronic lateness is something the people who know me well have been forced to accept. I'm the friend that has to be told that plans start at 7:30 when they really start at 8:00.

Ugh, dishes.

I love the feeling of having an empty dishwasher and being able to just put my dishes in as I use them. However, this is most often not the case. I don't know what it is about unloading the dishwasher that makes me want to just let my dirty dishes pile up on the counter instead of simply putting the clean dishes away to make room for dirty ones. And dishes that are hand wash only? Forget about it. I figure that's what double-sided sinks are for. One side is meant to be filled with hand wash only dishes that will probably never be washed.

Really, it's not just the dishes. Cleaning in general is not my thing.

My apartment is a disaster area about 97% of the time. Every once in a while, around every few months or so, I take the time to seriously clean my apartment. This is usually brought on by plans to have guests over, which is pretty rare. Most of the time, I'm too embarrassed to allow anyone to see the mess I live in. Even after my deep cleaning episodes, I can only manage to keep the place clean and picked up for about a week before I let it all crumble down again. It's not the actual cleaning that I mind so much though. I don't mind sweeping, scrubbing, mopping, dusting, etc. My problem with cleaning is the picking up that must be done before I can actually clean. My stuff always somehow manages to stay strung out despite my attempts to organize.

The majority of my money goes to Sephora.

Budgeting and finances are something I know absolutely nothing about. I even took a personal finance class a few semesters ago thinking it would be helpful for my future. I barely scraped by with a C and learned nothing. I don't even know why I spend so much money at Sephora. It's not like I wear that much makeup. Yet somehow I always manage to walk in planning to buy one thing and leave with a bag full of new products. You would think the shame I feel when I renew my VIB status would teach me a lesson, but it does not. Who needs money for groceries/rent/bills anyway?

I have to either google or ask my mom how to do just about everything.

I literally have to google how to cook an egg every time I cook or boil an egg. Last week, I had to ask my mom how to put air in my tires. The amount of things my mom still has to teach me, help me with, or even do for me is astonishing considering I'm a full grown adult and should know how to take of myself by now.