|Don't be fooled - the vacuum wasn't actually turned on|
Today I've been catching up on my blog reading, and I came across this pearler from Hyperbole and a Half. Sometimes I feel as though she can read inside my head. And not just any part of my head - the bit that contains the tumbleweed and the monkey.
Most of the time, I feel like a semi-competent faux adult. Oh yeah, I drive myself places (see me driving this car? I even have the loan repayments so you know that this car makes me an adult), I arrive on time to things (mostly), I hold down a job (I haven't been fired yet) and I do lots of little things during the day that ensure my survival until another day (like breathing), but most of it is just a complex facade, and all that lays underneath is the girl who, unless she concentrates REALLY hard, forgets to eat/sleep/avoid obstacles while walking.
You may have even noticed that I'm continually referring to myself as a girl. Or a gal. Or a chick. I can't bring myself to say "woman", or "lady". I feel like I'd just be giving myself ideas above my station.
In a timely fashion, today (Father's Day) I had a moment for self-analysis when a new co-worker enquired if I had a "hubby at home celebrating Father's Day on his own". I laughed. Racuously. In her face. As I always do in these situations. People throw out the words "husband", "child", "pregnant", "home-ownership", "share market", "risoni" and the like, and I become flustered, feeling the need to explain that, while I may APPEAR as if I'm an adult, I'm nowhere near old enough for that stuff.
Sure, legally I can do whatever I want. But really, until I can remember to eat 3 meals a day, please don't make me responsible for somebody else. I can't even cook eggs, for god's sake. The solitary time that I tried to cook rice was a majestic failure. I don't think that you realise exactly how underprepared I am for this big, bad world of ours.
And then there's the flawed decision-making process that seems to be an integral part of my personality. The part that says, "Yeah, you're running late, your socks are wet, and you don't own a dryer. MICROWAVE!!!", and the part that then has to deal with blackened socks that snap when I try to turn them right side out. It's the part that says, "Although you are sitting on a high seat with your legs crossed underneath you, don't stand up to pick that piece of paper up off the floor. Just lean down to it. Lazy = good.", which unsurprisingly to everyone but myself, led to me losing an earring, receiving a blow to the head, and getting a boo-boo on my knee. And I still didn't manage to grab the catalyst piece of paper.
Yesterday morning before work, I somehow managed to break my bedroom curtain rod. I don't know what happened; I was opening my curtains, and then all of a sudden I was draped in netting and wondering if my hazy vision was a side-effect of fatigue. A variety of appropriate responses came to mind, but the course of action that I chose based upon the variables (lack of time, need to get to work, lack of time) was the most obvious of all of the options - I closed the outer curtain again, and pretended that it never happened. I might get around to opening the curtain again and sorting out the issue. Or maybe it will magically fix itself. Who knows? All I know is that I'd rather live a life prepared to be open to the idea of magical curtain-fixing, than being all negative and whatnot.
I keep assuming that these thought processes and actions will change - maybe once I hit 26 years of age something will happen inside me and I'll be able to make a mean omelette and watch the news without crying about all of the people that got hurt. I don't know. I try not to get my hopes up about it all. I think the far likelier outcome is that I will forever be driven to distraction by shiny things, and proud of obviously monumental feats like checking the fuses in my car - it's just that I might be able to control it all a little bit better.
We can hope.