“Adulting” is something I spend a lot of time thinking about, particularly as adulthood seems to be approaching at worrying speed and despite being 23 years old, I’m just not yet completely ready to formally declare myself a fully fledged adult.
I find it utterly terrifying that people my age have children. They have the responsibility of looking after little people who might spontaneously stick their fingers in a plug socket, or fall over and require a swift trip to A&E. If I’m unwell, my first port of call is to lay still and hope it goes away; I have to be virtually at deaths door to drag my sorry self to the doctors, and don’t even get me started on the dentist. I am now old enough to actually teach little people subjects in school. Actually, I’m old enough to teach medium sized people more complicated subjects in school. How terrifying is that?
I miss my lectures and seminars because I’m hungover a little too frequently. Tuna is the most common staple in my diet because it’s less hassle to cook than a chicken breast, or God forbid a whole chicken. Keeping my room tidy is still a problem, and spontaneously spending money on rubbish like ice cream and wine still seems completely legitimate because, although I pay rent, somehow, in my head, I don’t pay rent (!?). The trouble is, all of this is going to change very shortly, and soon I won’t be able to use the phrase “when I’m an adult…” Anymore.
Getting my first job is proving incredibly challenging, and when I first donned some smart clothes and head into the city for my first interview I felt like a 6 year old wearing their mum’s suit. Everything seemed a little too big, and I genuinely felt like a fraud, a very timid wolf in a ballsy sheep’s clothing. I worried that I might need a wee halfway through and have to excuse myself, and I found myself wondering if that would reflect poorly on me. I wondered if they, like sharks, could smell my fear underneath my surprisingly cool exterior. It was ok – I was pretending to adult, and for a first interview, it wasn’t a completely horrible experience.
I have just over two months left of being able to tick the ‘student’ box. Two months until all this off-putting and weekday drinking is over. Just two months to go until I have to accept my status as “adult.” Being a “real adult” (another favourite phrase of mine) means making life changing decisions, it means shutting doors permanently and opening up new ones, it means committing to a person or a place or a job for good, and leaving behind thinking in ‘school years.’ It is utterly horrifying, yet so incredibly exciting. Still, I can’t imagine I’m going to handle growing old very well, can you?