Being a grownup can go ahead and blow its self up, cause it sucks.
I don't know what all the fuss is about. Bills, lots of bills... and as soon as you have more than fifty bucks in your bank account it's like cloaked robber barrons try to steal it all from you. You're suddenly supposed to understand all sorts of stuff about the world that isn't even remotely important and, let's face it, nobody cares. What people think about you switches overnight from 'oh, they're just learning their way' to 'why isn't she married yet? what about kids?'.
So screw adulthood. I can barely take care of myself, much less anyone else. When my toilet cloggs up I almost cry, cause I can't seem to master the plunger. When I get mail I resist the urge to just throw it out, cause it's always bad news.
Grrrr. Just by the nature of my whining, I guess it's pretty obvious that I am not yet an actual adult. Awesome. I guess that means I don't need to swear off cartoons and sidewalk chalk yet.
About Me
- mylla
- with the snakes and the worms, United States
- I am 23, an artist, an author, and play-doh conniseur. I collect stuff that people make for me in bars out of napkins and straws. I am kind of a gypsy at heart, and can't sit still long enough to ever be comfortable. My little sister is shaping up to be way more interesting then I've ever been. I have the soul of a poet, the eyes of an artist, and the heart of a madman. On any given day I would probably rather blow bubbles than do almost anything. I am always in way, way over my head. I fantasize about playing air guitar at the office. My friends are incredible and way too cool for me. I adopt siblings when I decide they need a big sister. Lastly, I am almost always single, which is a constant source of headaches.
Someday, you and the plunger will make amends and just be friends already. Someday...
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