I find myself staring at my ceiling a lot at night these days. It’s less insomnia and more me wondering about what it means to be a grown-up and wishing terribly for the days when I was so scared of being on my own that I literally slept on the floor of my parents’ bedroom for weeks at a time. Those, those were the good old days.
She says, half kidding.
I’ve been seeing someone pretty regularly. She’s my therapist. And we have discussions about things I worry about, because, duh, and sometimes she points out that what I’m really doing is finding things to worry about because I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not worrying. Which is totally not true. We all know that I’d just sit around eating ice cream all day if I wasn’t worried about sitting around eating ice cream all day.
The things I’ve been worrying about constantly lately are really the tropes of adulthood, and are, thus, incredibly annoying. What freaks me out is that they will not stop until I die. BECAUSE REALLY, LIFE, YOU CAN’T GET MORE STRESSFUL THAN THAT.
So, join me as I list the things I’ve been worried about/stressed about lately:
Look, we all know I love food. I can’t get enough of it. I love shoving handfuls of the stuff from my grubby little paws into my slimy little maw and filling my cheek like a hamster preparing for the apocalypse. I LOVE IT. Especially kale.
The thing is, though, I have to, like, buy groceries often. Like once every two weeks or so. And every time I do, it’s like, wait, wasn’t I JUST here? Shouldn’t I have enough food to last me for, I don’t know, a year or something, before I have to mosey back to the store and sulk through the aisles like the gollum I am? Shouldn’t I get to enjoy not spending money for like a MONTH before I have to spend more money? Shouldn’t my supply of cereal, eggs, kale, apples, bananas, buckwheat, almonds, and yogurt last me until the leaves have finally emerged from their twig hyperbaric chambers? I MEAN, I SERIOUSLY BOUGHT YOGURT LIKE TWO DAYS AGO AND I’M ALREADY OUT AND JESUS CHRIST I AM HAVING A PANIC ATTACK ABOUT GREEK YOGURT.
And then going to the grocery store. It’s like Germ City and you have to touch the things you want to buy, and undoubtedly a zillion other people have touched them and who knows what they’ve been doing with their hands but I can guarantee you at least four of them have stuck their fingers up their nose or down their butt-crack in the last half hour and then decided that they didn’t want the avocado that you’re now holding in your hand. (Thankfully, with the tough skin of an avocado, the germs might not have permeated as deeply, I tell myself)
I just don’t understand how I keep filling up my pantry and it keeps getting empty again. I mean, logically, I get it. I know I’m being an idiot. But I’m so tired of grocery shopping and I just want to be able to plug myself into a wall and get all the nutrients I need. Hey, Apple, get on that, would you? (iFood–when it debuts, thank me. Or assassinate me.)
Just like the grocery store, isn’t it? I mean, I JUST washed all those clothes like two weeks ago. It kind of freaks me out that I have these chores that will just never end as long as I live, and laundry is no exception. I mean, why bother putting my clothes away at all if I’m just going to wear them in two days and wash them in seven anyway? Why bother folding that t-shirt when I am going to throw it on tomorrow morning when I get dressed for work? Why put my superhero underwear away when I really just wish I could wear it all the time? Why get dressed at all, really? Why are clothes a thing? Why can’t I live in a nudist colony where everyone is attractive and it’s also not weird to be in a nudist colony? Why can’t a magical laundry fairy–Hi, mom!–take care of it for me? (That’s a joke; I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was 10 years old. That’s almost 14 years of laundry-doing, and only about… 60 more to go. Jesus) Nothing makes me confront my own mortality more than separating my darks from my lights.
This is really the heart of the matter. Money keeps me up at night when I’d rather be kept up at night watching Game of Thrones. It gives me panic attacks about once a week because of bills when I’d rather have panic attacks about, I don’t know, anything else.
I keep pretty close track of my expenses. I know when I’m stepping out of bounds and being grandiose with cash I don’t have, so I’m good at reigning myself in. And each month I’m like, “oh, I had extraordinary expenses this month because of getting my car registered/tax preparation/vacation/plane tickets/doctor visit/exorcism and next month it won’t be so bad.” Then, inevitably, NEXT MONTH IT IS JUST AS BAD! I won’t go out to eat! I won’t go to the movies! I won’t buy any clothes! I won’t do anything fun! But yet, I had to drive to main campus more often and that’s a good 200 miles a week and Atreyu needs dog food and I need people food and my gym membership expired and I have to pay rent and I have to pay tuition AND JESUS CHRIST JUST STOP ALREADY.
Why is money a thing? Why can’t I just, like, hug someone whenever I need something? Why can’t we decide, as a society, that there are enough material goods in the world so we no longer need to pump out anything new and charge monies for them? Why can’t we just trade our other goods and some services (hugs, you PERVERTS) for the necessities? Why am I such a hippie?
Ugh, all this worrying is exhausting.
It’s bed time.