Priorities

So one of the things about being an adult is having your priorities straight, right? Like: you know that you're "focussing on your career right now" or that you are "paying off your loans" or that you are "family-centric".

I really need to work that shit out. I need a mission statement. Because I either try to do nothing, or everything. Which means that absolutely nothing gets done well, which bugs me because I hate doing things badly, which then leads me to quit everything. Which in turn leads to all kinds of awkwardness (filed under: poverty, self-esteem problems, the scorn of peers and family).

Why do I do this? Because I'm really not a jerk. Au contraire, mon ami - I am the most self-destructive of all things: the people pleaser.

Was chatting with a friend, who is mighty successful, about how I feel really bad about how I'm being taken advantage of at work, which led to a conversation about how she manages her staff the other day.

Friend: Yeah, so the secret to managing people? You have to see what drives them.

Me: Well, you know, money's not really my main driving point, so I guess that makes me hard to manage...

Friend (cocks eyebrow, looks at me with indulgent mockery): So my one assistant... She's driven by wanting people to like her. So all I have to do to get her to do stuff? Pretend like I'm mad and don't like her until she does it.

Me: WHAT? Managers do that?!?! THAT'S ME!!! THAT'S SICK!

Friend: Yupp. Works though.

(By the way, I still think it's mean.)

People not liking me is WAY worse than kryptonite. It paralyses all of my critical faculties. It's part of what makes me seem like such a slacker - if you never say no, you end up doing things really badly. Which is why I need a list of priorities: I need things to hang onto when it comes to facing the wrath of my peers (and superiors. eeeeek.)

Glamorizing underachievement is the crack of our generation

Friend of mine said this to me a while ago, and it sprung back into mind last night when chatting about arrested development. So true.

Kurt Cobain, you have a lot to answer for - not just those plaid shirts. (I still love you though)

Shrewish Conversations

Had chat with friend yesterday about our plans to pay off student loans and credit card debt. Possibly the most adult conversation I've ever had. Massive "impostor warning" issued among the real adults!

Paying rent ON TIME today. SWEET!

Also, I really wish someone had told me how much happier and more productive I am when I CAN pay said rent...

Putting things away

I suck at putting things away. Both practically, and emotionally. I guess I'm hoping that by learning to do the first, I'll somehow trick my brain, my heart, or whichever organ houses emotions to do the same.

Plus, it's just nicer being in a space not covered in clutter and mess.

So: I went to the laundromat today DESPITE the fact that my friend who was meant to come this weekend postponed. Why would that matter? Because normally, I would totally mask the slight whiff of socks with Febreeze, and not bother to do my laundry until emergency time. Emergency time, for those who are unfamiliar with the concept, sees me dressed in hawaiian shirts and going commando in a nod to hygiene, rather than to sassy sexiness or a fear of visible panty line. (It bothers me that VPL has a recognisable acronym. I mean, there are other crimes of clothing that are so much more offensive. Starting with sock-bite. That's WAY more upsetting - victims of malicious socks leaving gnaw-marks on your ankles, unite!). Anyway. It wasn't emergency time, my friend wasn't coming, so shame over my housekeeping wasn't impending, and i STILL did my laundry.

Gangster.

The laundromat was a mixed bag. Expensive as heck - it may turn out to cost me almost the same to drop off my laundry there - and kind of skanky. Still, cute boy. Weighing up cute boy versus nasty baby roaches in terms of divine omens in support of my doing laundry? Tough call. Still, I vanquished one of said roaches. Humanity 1, Roaches 0. Always good to know that you're taking one for the team.

Plus, I actually put all my clean, FOLDED things in drawers when I got back. Instead of leaving them in their bags. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Massive Adult points for La Fitz.

Also headed over to co-op and stocked up on food for weekend. Impressivo. Returned to make myself dinner. have recently been reviewing my eating choices. I've been a vegetarian since I was 16. Meat just hasn't been something I eat. It has long since stopped being something I think about. It's just what I do, because I made an ethical decision about it when I was a kid.

This, of course, makes no sense. I think the human body completely regenerates its cells ever 7 to 8 years. Thus, I have, on a very basic physical level, become a different person TWICE since I made the decision to stop eating meat. But I still stick to it, because 'it's what I do". Well, I'm re-examining that. There are lots of things about vegetarianism which make sense to me still - but I want to explore. And be healthy. And change old, dull patterns. Putting them away.

Banally, these epic changes start with eating turkey and chicken...

Allow me to inform you that turkey bacon is the gateway meat, as much as marijuana is the gateway drug. Sweet lord, that stuff is good! Had never tried it before, but will revisit. SOON.

Oh, and in the finest Operation Adulthood move to date, I then did all my dishes. Even though my roommate is out of town.

And put the dishes away.

Insoles

Just bought, and am now wearing, my first ever insole-foot-support thingies.

Comfy as heck.

Glad no-one can see them, though. I mean, I have barely passed the stage where I would only wear Birks or nothing at all, and now my aching, ancient limbs need special, Dr Scholl-y care.... What's up with that?

When did Operation Adulthood become Operation Geriatric?!

Anxiety

Just looked at writing workshop websites (oh, sweet alliteration! I don't care that you're untrendy and uncouth - you always make me feel clever, like the first couple of questions in game shows), and it gave me massive pangs of anxiety.

This is either because it is what I want to do and I am filled with dread of failure and shortcomings and of actually diving back into what i failed to do before OR it's a divine sign (from my stomach where, incidentally, all my- limited!- wisdom lies) that I should not bother with the writing.

Note - two of my most embarrassing failures to date are the two novels I have started and gotten about a third way into. Embarrassing, because I very rarely admit to myself that I really want something, and I very rarely commit to doing anything. I did, with one of em, and I got nowhere. I barely wrote, and I now lug moleskin upon moleskin of notes around with me when I move, a ballast of both failure and hope for improvement.

At least writing about Operation Adulthood is going smoothly. Small mercies!

Focusing, or Limiting?

For a while, I've been wondering "What took me so long?" about the whole adulthood gig. One of the reasons, I think, is because I've long been smitten by the incredible choices available to me. Should I live in Asia, or North America, or Europe? (Or somewhere else - I was seriously planning to move to Cuba in spring of 2010. So much so, that I was actually googling apartments. Which, incidentally, is more foresight than I've had for most of my moves). Should I be a writer, an academic, a marketeer, a professional horseback rider or a music promoter or ... something else?

All of this was great when it was either daydreams - as when I was a child - or when I felt I had unlimited time and absolutely no sense of consequences. (That would be... until about six months ago. Oops.). And I've come to a realize a couple of things about this approach - that I don't tend to do much at all, because I either can't choose or I stop doing things when they get difficult, or I end up having surface knowledge of lots of things and very little specialised knowledge. (The latter is known as "being a journalist". Apart from the fact that journalists actually have to write lots. Which I quit doing a couple of years ago.).

But what I like about that approach, that fluid, liquidy approach to what I do and where I live and who I am, is that it means I still believe that daydreams and desires are totally valid. And I want to be that - both for myself, and for other people.

Earlier today, I was talking to a friend of mine, who is normally one of those great and supportive and interesting people. Love this girl. But I've noticed something about her. She's NOT supportive of her friends when it comes to trying to break into the entertainment industry. I've heard her recount multiple reasons for why they shouldn't do it, why they're not good enough, talented enough, driven enough, too old, unwilling to train, all sorts of totally legitimate reasons...

But they're not the REAL reason why she doesn't think they can do things. She thinks they can't because SHE doesn't. Not "can't" - "doesn't". She's a deeply talented musician herself, but has so much anxiety built up around making music that she can barely pick up her guitar. So she seems to have decided that 'this is it' - the business she operates is going really well, even though she's not super happy doing it, and her private life is going from strength to strength. But she's disappointed - maybe she doesn't know it, but I do.

I'm not judging her for this; maybe she'll work it out, maybe she'll be happy doing what she does, maybe she's right and her other friends will either man up and go on with what they want to do, or maybe they legitimately aren't good enough - but I realised that that's not what I want for myself. I want to focus without limiting; myself, and others. I want to be someone who has those daydreams and encourages them in others, while actually making them happen - so my adult world is more like daydreams, rather than daydreams being lost to the "adult" world.

In the interest of Full Disclosure

I also spent an hour and a half on the phone, talking about how I don't have enough time to do things I need to do (school, mainly).

Now I feel super-guilty. Either I need to give myself the time to do things I enjoy, or stop feeling guilty about everything.

Doing so well, until you're not

This was supposed to be a super celebratory post. As in, I had a few truly masterfully Adult days.

Consider the following:

I found a yoga class I like, which only costs 12 dollars, and I'm now in good enough shape to be able to do chattaranga (that's what it sounds like - basically, a half-way held pushup which hurts like a beast) for AGES and repeatedly, without dying. So I'm in way better shape than I've been for a long time, which is cause for celebration. And I'm saying no to things that are on Mondays because I like the class and I need to establish routines.

I bought bedding for my room and some new clothes. These are not big steps for anyone else, but they are for me. Adults have nice bedsheets and blankets and pillows, as well as clothes that don't have holes in them. Until yesterday evening, I had neither. After almost three hours in Marshalls', I now have both. (As a complete aside, discount or outlet stores like Marshall's may well be the main reason why American consumers are in such truly insane credit card debt. Everything is sort-of cheap, and the in-store marketing is IN YOUR FACE, but SEDUCTIVE - not entirely unlike some sleazy Mediterranean men I've dallied with in the past - so it's hard to resist, even though you know better. Case in point: the hangers in the women's changing rooms are entitled "definitely" and "possibly". Insidious stuff). As making my bed on a daily basis is part of Operation Adulthood, having the right equipment is key. And being consistently dressed like a street urchin reeks of arrested development. So I'm proud of that effort.

It has taken my supervisor three weeks to get back to me, so I exchanged a couple of emails with her, using my near-miraculous leverage to move my exam-thingy forward a month.

Also, I made dinner out of LEFT OVERS the other day (the fact that I'm really not sure whether that should be one word or two indicates how bloody rare it is that I have them). That is totally the most adult meal ever. It means that you have things in the fridge because you eat at home regularly, that you have a sense of when they're going to expire so you're endorsing the "waste not, want not" ethic, and that you are very, very sensible. (Was it great food? No. But it was fine).

But then... I still have days like today. Where I didn't sleep well. The dogs were annoying. My boss-friend is flipping out over her life (legitimately, but still; it's difficult being both a good, supportive, friend, and someone's slightly disgruntled employee. The two positions are kind of mutually exclusive. And I'm rubbish at navigating them). Dropped my new, pretty purple fleece, bought yesterday. Came back within five minutes and someone had taken it. Gutted, and with lots of angry feelings of "this is why you don't deserve nice things!". Then, I had to spend 700 dollars on a ticket back to London for four days on exactly the dates when I don't want to go - it's for school, and I really don't want to do it. Or spend more than 500 dollars doing so. I meant to do all sort of productive things after work but my brain just sank into a morass and ended up just watching a couple of shows online.

Felt deeply sorry for myself when a poignant song came on in a totally unexpected place - like, the song the guy you're still smitten with but who "can't have a relationship right now" sent you a couple of months ago about wanting to fall in love, but holding out on you SHOULD NOT be in family friendly entertainment. They have warning signs for nudity and violence: Sarah Bareilles' "Gravity" is EXTREME emotional nudity and violence for me. Fuck you, Television. Not OK. Had a little heartbroken cry, then attempted to set up an online dating profile, but realised the only guys I found attractive look like my recent ex. Not ideal. Recognise all the "it's been long enough/you need to get over it/move onwards and upwards young lady/find another guy/best way to get over someone is by getting under someone else" stories I should be telling myself, but am not quite there emotionally. Actually, I'm totally not there emotionally. But I'm trying to be, because I'm more likely to hear the sound of one hand clapping than the guy in question calling me and saying, "Hey, I miss you and I'm sorry things went the way they did, and there's nothing in the world I'm more excited about than you and I spending time together again and having our relationship grow and develop. And I want us to just be around each other and talk and be and discover each other and get bored with the everydayness of everything." Zen Master La Fitz knows at least that some things cannot be achieved through wishing. (Zen Master Fitz also knows that online stalking is the way of darkness, and has never yielded happiness. One day, she will develop complete resistance to this tomfoolery. This would be most helped if social media did not send continuous updates while she is attempting to commune with other friends. Zuckerberg, you're a bitch, and you know it.).

So, basically, a rubbish day. It doesn't undo my good Operation Adulthood work in the last couple of days. But I'm SO IMPATIENT. I want everything to be fine RIGHT NOW. And I mean everything. And I mean Right Now. I guess I need to bear in mind that it has taken me a fair long while to get into the sort of mess I've been in, so part of the OA needs to be mastering some sort of patience.

Which really, to use an aptly childish phrase, sucks.

Work success

The Poodle's owner loves me - sent me a text to say how relaxed he looks after I've been looking after him.

I suppose sexually harassing me did wonders for his peace of mind.

Sounds like Snapping

So one of the problems about Operation Adulthood is that I'm trying to monitor MYSELF, rather than go for external validation. I still think this is sound - especially because I am naturally way too concerned about what other people think about me (I pretend that I'm not. But everyone who knows me knows that... well... I do care. And I'm often cripplingly self-critical). In that sense, keeping tabs on myself, and meeting standards I've set myself totally helps.

But... Because I've let myself get away with so much flakiness for so long, I also tend to have pretty low standards about some things. So: writing? Insanely and ridiculously high standards that disable me. Operation Adulthood stuff? Really, really LOW standards.

The other day, I thought I was doing super well on OA stuff - dealing with conflict at work. Now, I don't DO conflict. It's silly, but I don't. I took a little bit of conflict, and texted my sister for approval.

(Honestly, everything about that is Not Adult - I say something to my friends and bosses, and then I contact someone for APPROVAL? Especially the person I have most of my conflicts with?? Love her, but not the right move, and not the right person).

But what came of it was actually something pretty good. I recounted the situation, and then added "I'm really pleased, because usually, I just pretend everything's fine and that I'm OK for a long time and then I snap, and I know that's not fair." To which she replied "I don't know... Sounds like snapping".

She totally had a point - I was so wrapped up in my own, low, standards of not-dealing with conflict that I didn't see what was actually going on. Which was that, even though I didn't let this situation at work escalate to a complete disaster, I still let it go too far, for how I felt. Plus, what actually sucks is that the PATTERN is the same as the one that has gone towards the need for Operation Adulthood in the first place.

BUT! Onwards and upwards. I need to set those boundaries - and I need to do them without havign to ask for validation. Still, it's good to have people around who keep me honest. Sometimes.

Poodles

Also, as a I write this, a toy poodle puppy is dry humping the bedding I'm meant to be sleeping on. Essentially, my blanket is being violated by an underage, curly haired canine midget.

Great.

Movin' Out

Wow, some of the aspects of sorting out adulthood are... annoying. And sort of difficult to deal with.

I've been house sitting for the last three months, and have only finally found somewhere slightly more permanent to live.

It was great for a while, but recently, the family came back, and allowed me to stay on while I found a new place. (It's really tough to find a place when you are short of cash...). And I'm really grateful in a lot of ways - I WAS really short of money, it's hard to find a place to live, and them letting me stay there has saved me from having to live with friends and out of a suitcase for the last two weeks.

However... Living in someone else's house, especially when they are there, is really rough. And it has re-inforced something I really need to learn as part of Operation Adulthood: that if money is not changing hands, people are unlikely to genuinely value what you do. For the last couple of months, I've been a super responsible housesitter, going above and beyond - dropping off mail at weird places and at a moment's notice, looking after the garden and the plants, not having anyone in the house without clearing it with the owners, making sure I use a minimum of electricity, etc etc etc. But because I didn't negotiate a salary, it's treated as if the family are doing me a favour, rather than an exchange of services.

I'm not doing this again, because it means that you get into situations like the one I was in last night, when I was back at the house to pick up some stuff, and, all of a sudden, I was expected to move my things from the house a day before the date we agreed on last week, which in turn was two weeks ahead of the date they'd told me I was welcome to say. I ended up cleaning up my room, packing up all my stuff and then telling them that I couldn't move until the intended date, because I had already scheduled help for that day.

If they had either a) respected the work I have done for them this summer or b) had me as an actual tenant, none of this would have happened.

So: annoying conflict, insights about people, and reminder of the need for me to demand payment and respect for the things I do.

weeks, I've gone out of my way to behave like a responsible and polite house guest, and I

Saying "No" to Stuff

I'm truly dreadful at saying 'No'. It surprises people, because I'm opinionated and outspoken and, well... loud.

But I'm really bad at telling people that I either don't want to do something, or that it's a massive inconvenience to me, or that I don't have time. Remember "Ella Enchanted", the movie featuring Anne Hathaway (who I can't stand, because she comes across as prissy and entitled), where Ella is under a curse to obey anyone around her? I have more than a whiff of that. The problem is, though, that I end up making a complete dog's dinner out of all the things I commit to when I don't have time to do them. Or it makes me really stressed out. Or I just avoid answering until it's too late. Or... which is the most annoying for people I know and love, and which therefore makes me feel bad about myself, I end up bailing. Often at the last minute. Because I just can' take the stress of being over-committed and rushing, or I've promised to do something I really don't want to do, just to "be nice".

The problem is that I want to be an adult that people can trust and depend on, but I don't want to be a stressed out push over. And that balance is hard.

So I'm working on this aspect of adulthood. My experiments with saying "no" have as of yet not been super successful. I told a friend I couldn't look after her cat for free, using my work as an excuse, and she didn't speak to me for a month. Either this reflects badly on her, or on both of us; my legitimate work concerns aside, I should have also told her that I didn't want to do it. (I don't. She lives far away from me, it's a pain to get there, and I look after pets all day, every day - I don't want to do it without getting paid. I just don't. It's a great extra job, but there's only so much animal hair, feces and pet food one person can be expected to deal with on any given day).

But I'm persevering. I told a friend that I couldn't come to her birthday party on Thursday (which she sent out the invites for that day), because I had other plans and wouldn't be able to make it, but that I could come if she wanted to meet up another day. And it ended up that she was having another drinks party closer to me the next day - sweet! I told another person that whether or not I could buy flowers for his girlfriend's (who I've never met) art opening and hand deliver them to her really would depend on when and where it was, as I work two jobs. (Honestly, it's New York; there are more florists here than anywhere else outside of the tulip fields in Holland. I'm sure you can find one that will deliver. Don't be a jackass).

I'm not great at it, yet - I haven't sent off a friend's jacket that she left at mine, because it will cost me a fortune to fedex it and the regular post office is never open when I'm home, which I should have told her before agreeing to send it- but I'm working on it. Not an adult yet - but at least I've started asking myself "Am I only doing this to avoid conflict?" before I say "yes".

Non-Twenty-Something Weekend

So this is pathetic - it's Saturday. I'd decided to take my first day of doing absolutely nothing all day in a long, long time. I know what this entails - lying in bed, watching bad TV or reading, scrounging for food... maybe having a coffee late in the evening so I have a semblance of being awake when it's time for me to go out and have a few drinks in the evening.

It's not even 5 pm and I'm already bored of this, so I'm going out for a walk. And I have nice food downstairs, so I'm going to have some of that before I go out. I might do some school reading tonight, so I don't have to panic about it tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about all of this, but it's very adult.

Sorting out finances

I just did the most adult thing I have done to date: started researching how I can sort out my student loans (which are in default, because I'm poor and occasionally flaky and often don't deal with problems that freak me out, but let them fester and get much worse). It seems like it will be a scary trip, but I'm on it; and it seems less terrifying than I thought. (Which makes the fact that I've avoided it for oh... I don't know.... SEVEN YEARS a little ridiculous).

Even just looking at that basically exhausted me, but I'm going to give myself an emotional high five, for some crazy ass adulthood goodness!

Doing Laundry - Adult Stylee

I don't do laundry often enough. I hate doing it. It's SO boring, and takes time and often money and a schlepp and... bleurgh.. It sucks. It's not that I'm unhygenic (I think...), but I have set up a system of avoiding it. Thus, I have lots of knickers and socks and t-shirts, and accept that my trousers are often going to be... well... a little grotty. The "sniff test", which usually only guys do? That's my jam. My nose is finely attuned to the socially acceptable level of B.O.; much trial and more error has made me a master of this much maligned art-form.

Not to mention the state of any room I happen to live in. While the bedrooms of most of my friends have scented candles for romantic evenings with their loved ones (no single person under the age of 45 has scented candles in their bedroom for any other reason. The bathroom? Totally.The Living room? Maybe. The bedroom? Totally because they're in a steady relationship. A Very Adult One where they do things like "keep the romance alive". Bastards), and/or citronella to get rid of mosquitoes (also very adult - I hate the little critters, they eat me alive, and I always forget citronella), that's not the case for me. My bedroom historically carries a whiff of "Eau de Foot". Not a good smell. And not a good look.

So: New plan for dealing with the laundry. I normally leave it until I absolutely HAVE TO do it, and it's even more of a miserable experience. Instead, I got a much, MUCH smaller laundry bag, and I'm trying to be really good about putting my dirty clothes in it, rather than on the floor. It's full really quickly, within a few days, so it triggers my "Damn, La Fitz, you're laundry bag is overflowing; you have nothing to wear, SORT IT OUT WOMAN"- reflex. Which makes me do my laundry when it's much less painful... Regularly. Like an adult.

My room's still messy, but at least I'm doing my laundry. Baby-steps to adulthood!

Housing

I now have somewhere to live! SWEET! And I made the decision for all kinds of good adult reasons (it's cheap, so I can save, it's close to my work so it's convenient, it's in an area I like, the room's pretty), brought my cheque book so I could put down the deposit immediately if it suited me and HEY PRESTO: I have a set of keys.

Plus, the living-there dates are flexible so if house sitting ends up happening again early next year, I can move back in here. This is all super amazing, and I am very pleased. Adult-pleased. Is it where and how I want to live forever? No. But does it suit my short-term needs and long term goals? Absolutely.

Am now going to google gyms in the area, in pursuit of saunas - it gets cold in New York, and I can't have my bones being all chilly.

Getting Up Earlier

Am a chronic over-sleeper and NOT morning person. Historically, I am lost to the world until about ten in the morning - regardless of coffee consumption, alcohol consumption or stress levels. I may get out of bed, if I'm not depressed, but I am not alive when I do so. Had I ever been to Haiti, there would have been reason to believe that recent sightings of zombies was less to do with voodoo, and more to do with La Fitz having left her bed before her regular hours. It's a running joke around people I know: "You sleep like a teenager." And I do. I don't like it, though, because it also carries with it this undertone of "You're lazy", which 1) I'm not and 2) there's something about other people TELLING me who I am, especially when it's stuff which is either negative or unproductive, which trickles back into how I see myself. All of which adds up to a general vibe of artsy but stifled incompetence, which I've become way too comfortable in over the last five years.

The other problem with sleeping that much, of course, is that i don't currently have time to to do that. Not in a stressful "i have a million things to do" was, because my job is very low stress. ( At least when the canine bowels behaves themselves, and there aren't too many public transport disasters). But I need to be able to do my faffing around in the morning, so that I can do my school work at night (I still hang on to calling my doctorate "school work", even though it sounds childish - doing anything to make it feel less intimidating). I'm still happy to take naps when I need to, but I can't be sleeping a minimum of 10 hours a night at the moment. To try and fix this, I've started eating better so I have more energy, cut out caffeine so I sleep more soundly, and taking lots of different food supplements (more on this when I get back from a wedding in New Hampshire). <--- I will keep this under control; I hate food blogs with the snide passion I normally reserve for people who really care about recycling.

It's WORKING. I got up at 7.30 this morning, even though I don't absolutely have to, and am now headed downstairs to make myself a cooked breakfast. I've had the time to write this, check my emails, and am going to cook myself some breakfast. Been doing it for the past five days; and I managed to have a really good evening of writing yesterday DESPITE not being in bed all morning. An Operation Adulthood win!

Minor Setback

Have been experimenting with food of late - long story, and better post to follow when I am less poisoned - and then went a bit overboard. Read that some people with lactose intolerance/ dairy allergies can eat goat milk and cheese. Have been super stringent about not having anything containing dairy for over a week (have also been cutting out gluten), so I could "test the waters".

Bought a piece of goat cheese yesterday. Ate it today. Felt ill immediately and spent a couple of hours throwing up.

At least I know I'm definitely, unquestionably allergic, and am not "just being fussy".

(In fact, there are three aspects of this - I am trying to question assumptions I have about myself - GOOD. I disregarded my own boundaries - LESS GOOD. At least a tiny bit of this was about being worried about being a picky eater because it puts other people on edge - RIDICULOUS.) Sum total = not fabulous. But at least I know.

Grown Up Housing

I do not have grown up housing. I was loosely housed in sublets for a couple of years in New York, and then somewhat disastrously lived in student residences last year. (If anyone wants to know why movies about college kids are inane, it's because the social life of college kids is really, really mainstream, uninteresting and dull. It's only fascinating and important if it is a) going to happen to you because you are a teenager waiting to get out of the house or b) a college kid yourself. Trust me. I was a grown-ass woman living in a dorm. 45% of the time when girls in college get drunk and cry they think it's because they're not pretty. FACT. Backed by my own scientific eaves dropping.)

Instead, I have been house-sitting all summer for a friend of mine's parents. They have a palace. OK, so not quite a palace, but a three story brownstone in Park Slope, which I've had the run of by myself, barring a few visitors, for a couple of months. This sounds amazing and is great and I am grateful for my luck. But. It's not mine. Not only "not mine" as in "I don't own it or rent it", but "not mine" as in I'm staying in their son's old room, which is plastered with posters of ice hockey players and baseball games. Without space for my stuff - mainly a lot of books - which instead cover the floor.

Plus, my friends' parents are back from their holidays next week, and I was worried about invading their privacy. I thought I would have to move out before the deadline of doom strikes (I need to hand in a bit chunk of work on September 30th), and have been panicking about it a little. Until my grant comes through, I don't really have the money to move... So I would have been dependent on my wages being fronted by my bosses. And even that may not have been enough. There have been plans of living with my sister, with friends, with basically anyone who would take me in for a couple of weeks - all at a time when I'm meant to be getting down to deadline.

Normally, I would just have let this situation slide, and waited it out until it became unbearably stressful. But! Operation Adulthood being what it is, I decided to actually ask if I could stay here until at least early October. They said yes, which is great news! It saves me money, and I don't have to move while I'm on deadline.

The tricky part of staying is that they have also offered me to housesit later in the year/early next year... Which is a great offer - because, again, I would be saving on two months of rent, and part of Operation Adulthood is that I want to become more financially stable (read: less of a financial disaster). At the same time, I feel a need to settle somewhere, to actually live in an apartment for a year. So... not sure. Don't have to answer yet, but definitely one to ponder.

Getting Paid

I checked my account today and I hadn't been paid for a gig I did months ago. Instead of quietly fuming about it, or waiting to see when or if they planned to pay me, I emailed my contact person at the magazine, attached a second copy of my invoice and asked her to pay me.

Kindly, but professionally. Like an adult.

Personal Grooming

I'm paranoid about my eyebrows and upper lip hair. Silly, I know. But still. Hate looking mustachioed and like I'm squinting through a giant overhang of grizzly hairs when I look out on the world, like some part-bald Schnauzer who is about to snap at your fingers.

(Dog walking is making my breed associations more exact).

The only thing that helps my eyebrows is threading. Nothing else. Plucking leaves all the fuzz, waxing gives me a rash and shaving... I only did that once. My upper lip doesn't really need much work, but I don't trust myself to not miss those pesky hairs. But threading hurts like a beast and I can't do it myself. Plus, it costs money.

Also, there's the unwritten rules of going to the salon. You shouldn't go when you're sweaty and nasty and covered in dog hair. You should be clean, scented, wearing the right amount of make up and preferably have taken a paracetamol 45 minutes beforehand. (I DID admit that I threading hurts. I'm also a wimp.).

So... why do it? Vanity aside, I've realized that being totally ungroomed is one of the ways in which I avoid what adulthood means to me. It's a sign that I don't care, or that I don't think I deserve to look good, in exactly the same way I behaved when I was an awkward teenager. There's been a bit of regression in this aspect of my life in the last few years, so I need to man up about it. Ideally, when I reach true and awesome adulthood, I will no longer be vain, and therefore GENUINELY not care about what I look like. Until then, grooming it is.

Therefore, I'm proud t0 say I went, withstanding the inevitable mockery of the beautician about the state of my face. It turned out to only cost me $10 including tip, and I feel infinitely better about the state of my eyebrows, rather than thinking that "I'll do something about them this week".

A good adult start!

Operation Adulthood

"That's totally a blog!"

I've managed to reach 30 without any semblance of being an adult. Sure, lots of people at my age are missing one or a couple of the main components of official "adulthood". Maybe they are single. Maybe they're unemployed. Live in a semi-shitty apartment with roommates they're not convinced about. They may not have kids, or even pets. Perhaps they don't have proper health insurance, or don't make enough money to use said insurance.

These people have been known to bemoan their un-adultness, and are totally full of shit for doing so. Sure, they may have missed out on some of the markers of adulthood, but they are well on their way. They're on track, in subtle ways they don't even see: if you have at least a couple of those markers, getting more of them are much easier. You have the habits, you have the ideas and you don't have the obsession with being different and difficult in vague and undefined ways which I have.

Because me? I'm the real thing: arrested development. Living in people's houses, an eternal student, unpublished and largely, to be fair, unwritten. Pretty much impoverished. Pay-as-you-go phone. Have never even thought of how i would get health insurance, and have made a lifestyle out of working in jobs usually populated by teenagers or stoners.

And I'm done with it. Done with the childhood. Done with being a 20-something drifter. I've done that - time to grow up. So this blog is about how I do it.