Adulting is hard

Impulse decisions usually aren’t such a big deal, “Why yes, I WILL buy this pack of gum here,” or “Heck’s yeah I’ll run a 5k.” My impulse decisions though…not so much.

“Full back tattoo please!” – a decision made in less than 30 seconds.

Ahhh, my much younger back.
Ahhh, my much younger back.

After a slightly traumatic event I said to myself, ”I know what I’ll do, I’ll join the Army.” This took about a half day to decide. The thought never crossed my mind up until that exact moment. I was sitting in my closet of course, where I do my best thinking.

Best job I ever had.
Best job I ever had.

I haven’t quite figured out this adulting thing yet, but until any of these impulse choices comes back to bite me on the ass, I think I’m going to stick with what I feel.

A few days ago, I felt it was time to go back to school.

My rational brain hadn’t kicked in, so naturally I searched the internet for about twenty minutes until I came to Denver University’s website for their online college, University College.

I googled, “Best Online Colleges,” and it was literally the second school that popped up in my browser. Never mind it was out of state, it was a private college, and I would eventually be another $20,000 in debt, on top of $15,000 from my Bachelor’s in Social Work.

It took me two days to even navigate Denver’s page enough to figure out how exactly to apply. Lots of cursing later, I’m almost ready to submit the application to the master’s program in creative writing.

One tiny problem.

I have to write a ‘personal statement’ about myself. It’s supposed to serve as an introduction to the powers that be, to help them decide whether I should be accepted or not into the program. In the piece, with a theme in mind, I’m supposed to talk about what I expect to learn and what kind of professional position I anticipate having five years after I earn the degree. I’m also supposed to talk about what experiences I have that form the foundation for the career or educational goals I have.

I’m a 30-year-old woman who still laughs at her own farts. My career goals include a workday where I don’t have to wear pants and no one yells at me. Seriously, that’s it.

Today, in Afghanistan; I watched Elvira’s independent film, Elvira’s Haunted Hills no less than three times (completely underrated masterpiece if anyone asks), while consuming kettle corn and milk and cookies. I feel slightly unqualified to be called a master at anything, let alone creative writing.

Elvira

Once, my basement flooded. I called the people that root or rute things, roto something or other, and told them I thought it specifically was my sub pump…which, I learned later is actually called a sump pump; it must not be working right. A burly bear of a man came to the house and wadded into the laundry room, where the water was coming from. He promptly looked around and preceded to tell me I didn’t HAVE a sump pump.

Well, shit.

Apparently this is an example of a sump pump.
Apparently this is an example of a sump pump.

This wasn’t the first time as a grownup I was supposed to know something I most obviously didn’t. I went to the grocery store one time with my mom because we needed to make cupcakes and were most definitely not going to make them from scratch. I looked in the baking aisle for a good ten minutes. In my frustration with not finding any boxes with cupcakes on them, while simultaneously looking straight at boxes of Betty Crocker cake mixes, I said, “Damn it, there’s no cupcake mixes, just freaking cake mixes.”

My mom standing beside me started chuckling, while a woman stranger snorted as well from behind us.

Oh I’m sorry lady I’ve never seen before, laughing at me in public; no one sat me down and said, “hey, cupcakes are just small cakes, so they use the same exact batter only they put it in little cups, hence, the word cup-cakes…they’re cups full of cake Einstein.” Listen, I have more important things swirling around in my brain, like which Golden Girl is the slut and how Sex and the City stole every single episode idea from that show.

It's Blanche, Blanche is the slut.
It’s Blanche, Blanche is the slut.

I guess there’s no need to tell the college folk I had to use the “Blogging for Dummies” book just to get this blog going.

I use these books a lot.
I use these books a lot.

Look, I know I’m not an idiot. I know that. I realize how fortunate I am just for having a degree at all. I’m a pretty high functioning adult really. It’s just I’m going to be slightly out of my league if I get into this program. I had one creative writing class in college, and I haven’t read Pride and Prejudice. So help me, if they bring up Catcher in the Rye, I’ll lose my shit. I hated that book, wah wah, my name’s Holden, I’m a loner, wah wah, baseball, wheat fields…that’s all I remember.

I have things to say though.

I think we all do really. So here I am, ready to impulsively learn how to speak just a little bit louder, and hopefully a little bit smarter. I’ll learn to use less comma’s, Oxford or not, and I’ll learn how to straight murder the passive voice that’s in so much of my writing.

So much to learn.
So much to learn.

All I know is, it better be worth $20,000 bucks. Aw, who cares, we all know I’m going to die paying for college loans, so I might as well go big, notoriously big.

 

 

 

2 Comments

  1. Kanda Handa

    Ur so funny I remember that time w the cupcakes. I remember it like it was yesterday but it’s ok I still love u.

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