For the same reason I do many things, I keep trying to eat eggs like they will be something other than eggs.
Not like, “oh I hope they don’t taste like eggs this time,” but “this is what adults do, they make eggs in the daytime because it is real food and not a Zone bar that you eat without chewing and run out the door.”
But also, oh how I hope they don’t taste like eggs this time.
The pan had some melted plastic on the bottom of it, probably from the last time I used it and set it on a to-go container. For whatever reason I had forgotten this ever happened, saw the pan, and still fucking used it, thinking, “it’s solid now, it’s just part of the pan.”
Nope, still plastic. Still melts. All over the stovetop.
Which is difficult to clean when the stove is still hot and I have to run out the door, because no matter what food I decide to eat, I am late as a person.
Some days I’m way better at being an adult than others, which I’m sure is true for everyone. For some reason, though, there’s always just one piece out of reach.
- Make The Bed Every Morning: 10 points
- Floss Every Night: 15 points
- Use Crest White Strips: 1 point for the three times I did it, extra points pending from the box I’ve had for a year
- Put Laundry Away: 8 points (was 10, deducted 2 for the week it sat around)
- Make Lunch Before Work: 5 points for effort, -5 points for all the plastic
- Send Presents to Friends: No points for the package that is sitting on the floor
- Eat Vegetables: 100 points
- Eat Fruit: 80 points
- Don’t Eat Only Candy for Dinner: 3 points because it only happened once this week
- Wear Weather Appropriate Clothing: 1000 points because this is a newly developed skill
So maybe more than one piece out of reach.
“How old are you, are you even 22?” Some guy, probably 24.
“Yes, I’m plenty older than 22.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my birthday is Tuesday, I’ll be even older.”
He asked if he could help me celebrate, which I only considered because literally no one else has offered, but I’ll be in NYC, and also thank you but no.
He insisted that I must be 22. Twenty-six at the most.
Yesterday I made butternut squash noodles for dinner with pesto and green beans, on top of lettuce, like a warm salad. I taught two classes and took one, laid in the hammam for twenty minutes and took a hot shower. I remembered to take the trash out, even though my roommate got to it first, and I ran the dishwasher.
I also burnt off a chunk of my hair that I got stuck in the hairdryer because I spaced out in the mirror.
Surely real adults do not keep trying in vain to make themselves appropriate, to continue to eat eggs and hope they taste like something else. Twenty-six at most.