At the age of 23, I don’t really consider myself an adult. I mean, mentally and psychologically, I do, but in the grand scheme of things, I don’t really know what I am, and I hadn’t really thought to care. Lately, though, I have been going through what I can only describe as “being punched in the face by adulthood”. And let me say right off the bat – adulthood sucks.
This all started because my parents and I decided it was time for me to get an actual job. For a variety of reasons related to my health, the economy, and the fact that my profession of choice is “freelance artistic something-or-other”, we’d sort of been floating in a nebulous cloud of supportiveness. I didn’t have a job and that was okay! I was creating! Taking advantage of my youth! Trying new things! Getting my head screwed on straight! But my dad has started considering retirement, and so it was time for me to actually figure out how to become an adult. I’m not saying I accepted this with total grace, but the day after this was decided I was polishing up my resume and trawling Craigslist. Like an adult.