Responsibility or why being an adult sucks.
I’ve come to the conclusion that, much to my dismay (even though in my heart of hearts I’ve always known this) I am not a very responsible adult. Even now as I sit to re-write what I have written earlier and literarily bedazzle it, I should be getting dressed to go to school to meet with my academic advisor. Or, what I really have planned, is to go to Target first and get a red cardigan so I don’t have to wear the too tight, too short work “uniforms” (which are really gay red polos that are ill-fitted and make me feel like a circus midget). And then I will meet my advisor. Or maybe get some coffee.
I’ve come to the conclusion that, much to my dismay (even though in my heart of hearts I’ve always known this) I am not a very responsible adult. Even now as I sit to re-write what I have written earlier and literarily bedazzle it, I should be getting dressed to go to school to meet with my academic advisor. Or, what I really have planned, is to go to Target first and get a red cardigan so I don’t have to wear the too tight, too short work “uniforms” (which are really gay red polos that are ill-fitted and make me feel like a circus midget). And then I will meet my advisor. Or maybe get some coffee.
I always say I’m going to go home and be productive. And it always sounds great at the time. I’m going to go home and complete my case notes that I should have finished in class, I’m going to read all 45 chapters that I’m behind in. I’m even going to tab and highlight said chapters. Hell, if I’m feeling especially spunky I’ll decide I’m going to take my fat moose of a dog for a walk to burn the extra ten pounds he’s gained since I acquired him. And I’m always super enthusiastic about it. Like, “Yeah I’m going to go home and manage my time well and get shit done and feel good about myself”. But then reality sets in and I come home, and drag my shit into my room where I leave it in a massive pile on my floor which needs to be vacuumed because of the hair from my fat moose of a dog that never gets brushed either. Then I usually strip down and put something lazy on like my favorite Notre Dame hoodie (support your team) and some sweat capris and drag my lazy ass upstairs where I usually make a fast dinner and plop myself in front of the computer. I then proceed to check my mail (I don’t know why I bother since I’m a lame ass and the most exciting e-mails I receive are from Border’s bookstore) and check out the latest news stories. This little habit of mine is quite ironic considering I hate the news with a fiery passion. But I usually go for the dumb stories like, “twelve toed frog species found in Malaysia” or “intergalactic explosion of two super massive black holes colliding”. Though in my defense my best friend gets a kick out of the latter story too. By the time I’ve finished reading my stories I’ve either decided one of two things: A) It’s 7:30 PM and about time for bed or B) I really need to play a computer game. Both of the aforementioned options may be the reason why I have no social life.
This whole scenario may not seem bad but then I wake up the next morning and realize that I haven’t done any homework. For three weeks. Because I’m playing haunted-mansion-find-waldo-computer games or going to bed at 7:30 PM. I should probably just ask my parents to put me in a nursing home already because at the rate I’m going I’ll need a hip replacement and have Alzheimer’s by the time I’m 27. Anyways after said realization sets in I begin to panic and usually do my homework in a mad rush twenty minutes before I have to leave for school. This little habit of mine isn’t the most productive. I mean I always pass with A’s but that doesn’t mean I retain the information. And this can become quite the pickle to be in when you are in a program and need to remember the information you learned last term. Because if you are out doing social work at an internship site and forget what HIPPA means and all about confidentiality you are kinda screwed. Oh and also not to screw the clients… literally.
These habits also tend to lead to a habit of forgetting to do things like lets say pay bills or take your dog to the vet because he needs a rabies vaccination. And then because the Gods or whoever is in charge up there like to smite me, other things like to pile up. It can’t just be that I forgot to pay my credit card on time it had to be that moose needs a vet check up, the car payment is due, car insurance is due, moose has to be re-licensed and the douche bags at the DMV want my car to be re-licensed. Son of a bitch. Which brings me to the point of how the DMV/DEQ is a frigin rip off. You have to sit in line for three hours and pay like eighty dollars for two tiny stickers. Did I mention they were tiny? SO you go and get to be stuck behind a truck circa 1890 that is bellowing black smoke that I’m pretty sure is slowly creeping into the ventilation system of my NEW car and slowly giving me lung cancer. And why is it that said truck takes three hours to progress through the line? So while I’m waiting there, cars that arrived an HOUR after me have already got their dumb stickers and are probably sitting at the Olive Garden eating soup, salad and breadsticks laughing at how great the DEQ is. Bastards. Why is it that when my poor car that has just been immersed in gaseous tar for the past three hours finally creeps up to the stupid wiring system it only takes them three minutes to test my car and I’m off? Why? What sort of mind games are the powers that be playing with me? I find this totally unfair. There should be a special line for those of us who know our cars will pass with flying colors. Why can’t there be like an “honors” car club? I want special privileges damn it! Because if I have to sit in back of the frigin Beverly hillbillies one more time I just might start bringing a shot gun with me.
