Greetings
from outer space! No, of course I'm not in space although considering
my distinct lack of presence in the blogoshpere, you'd think I'd been
rocketed to the moon. (Yeah, 'blogosphere' is a real word in Internet
Land, keep up.)
I
am really shit at the blog game, I know. I feel bad asking you to
read my drivel because I've neglected you for six months but I've got
a feeling that you're going to scan this for a load of swear words, a
joke about vaginas and when you find them we'll be cool again...
So
Happy New Year, eh? 2013 has advanced without any real incident.
Wait, I tell a lie, I spilled piping hot gravy onto my lap in
February... I've never had a burn quite like it. It gave a doubly
literal meaning to the term 'fire crotch'. (I'm a natural redhead,
work it out...)
Vagina
joke = nailed:
I
also moved in with my boyfriend, Adam! I am now a fully fledged adult
because we have our own home!!
The most exciting set of keys ever:
Because
I'm an actual grown up, I now magically have the remarkable amount of
willpower required to fill a wine glass that can hold a pint of
generic liquid (alright, wine...) only a quarter of the way full! AND I can take
small sips so that a bottle actually lasts me for... well, a while.
A miracle:
Another
plus side to being a grown up in your own home is that you can do pretty much whatever
you want. Within the realms of the law, obviously. I'm talking; sit
around in your pants, yell obscenities at the news, eat a whole
packet of digestives (cos they're grown up biscuits), be naked... I
was going to label the latter; 'as long as your neighbours can't see
you', but I found out that the trees outside my living room window
aren't as dense as I thought and I still do it anyway. Mind you, from
the waist up I may as well be a boy, so every cloud...
A neighbour's view: Naked, no tits, strictly PG:
Being
all mature does have rocky patches though. You don't realise how much
maths you have to do! I went through huge pressures at school
thinking that the adult world revolved around graphs, algebra
equations, I had issues with x's before I'd even had a boyfriend...
Then
when you're in your late teens some messiah at college tells you; 'ah
you don't really need to use any of it in the 'real world', just fuck
maths off'. SO relieved! I threw all of my notes away but kept my
scientific calculator cos it was a bit expensive, in protest I just
wrote 'fuck off' on it. Anyway, adulthood rolls around and WHAT THE
FUCK IS ALL OF THIS MATHS?! I'm budgeting for bills, calculating
alcohol percentages etc. and I still haven't a sodding clue. I use my
fingers and toes to count, my iPhone calculator is a lifeline (even
when I'm just turning it upside down so that 58008 reads 'BOOBS'.)
and all the only algebra I can use is 'y'. Y the hell didn't someone
warn me that you need a MENSA brain to remember all the drivel you
learned at GCSE in order to calculate how much you have left to spend
on wine once you've paid your Council Tax.
That
joke was pants.
Sorry,
but I really fucking hate maths.
Another
Adult Peeve is that I can no longer take a leisurely stroll around
Asda, adding things to my trolley just because I fancy them. I have a
list and when you're a grown up, you stick to your shopping list; I'm
in and out like a grocery ninja. I have no time for those
insufferable people who stand in the middle of the tinned veg aisle
debating whether Heinz is tastier than Smart Price. I've got serious
shit to buy; like washing powder, bleach, Glade Touch and Fresh
refills and olives. We both hate olives, but you have to have them in
your grown up fridge so that when people come round for a social
tipple, you can offer them. It's a subtle way of telling people that
you're sophisticated and you've got your shit together. Unless you
accidentally eat one and pull this face:
I
feel so weird admitting to being overwhelmed by adulthood. I've been
a carer since I was 16 and have barely flinched at some of the
Herculean tasks I've had to take on (you're familiar with my 'picking
up accidental shit' work...) but suddenly I'm panicking about
everything. When you're a carer, you're faced with responsibilities
that test every fibre of your being and the only way through is by
acting on Auto Pilot - everything is scheduled so you don't have time
to forget the important things. Now that I'm living somewhere I don't
have to adhere to a strict timetable, I procrastinate like a BITCH! I
love running my own home so my thoughts are constrained to finding
new ways to test my domestic goddessry: 'Find out why your washing
never smells the same as your mums, despite using exactly the same
powder and fabric softener; Google an impressive meringue recipe;
Clean the oven. Properly; Find a way to insert a Glade Touch and
Fresh refill without using every swearword you've ever heard; Learn
to spell meringue;' etc.
I
often call on my caring experiences to get through day to day tasks
but I really need to learn that you can actually set up a direct
debit without simultaneously aspirating an NG tube, etc. As a carer,
I automatically assumed that everything about adulthood would be
fucking hard. But, apart from your boyfriend in the morning, it's
not. It really is as difficult as you make it. The only issue is the
responsibility
of living up to expectations posed by becoming a grown up. People
think that because I've been 'older than my years' for such a long
time, I'm going to adapt quickly but the reality is that it all gets
a bit too much sometimes. I often give into my inner child by feeding
it kid's honey cereal in a vain attempt to assuage the pressure. I
suppose I'll have to stand up and take it on the chin otherwise I'm
going to live the rest of my life riding on the crest of a permanent
sugar rush...
I love this cereal:
But adult rules dictate that you have to start taking care of
your colon health and eat this cereal:
In
my original blog biography I mentioned that I'd attempt to share some
fucked up wisdom with you, so here it is; if , like me, you're living
in a beautiful home with someone you love – chill out, we're lucky!
It's so easy to get bogged down with material compulsions that we
often forget what it is we're living for. In laymen’s, find some
clarity. If you can't find that then find the alcoholic beverage of
your choice. Clarity will come. ;)
Love,
Amy x
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