Monday, October 24, 2011

I am the least "adult" adult that I know.

I turned 34 this month. I am in no way fooling myself into believing that this makes me an adult. In fact, I am even more convinced that this whole aging thing is a hoax. Aging certainly isn't linear and it seems every bit of me is aging at a different rate.

For example, a friend of mine likes to tell me that I'm eternally 22 at heart. I think he chose 22 just so my inner self wouldn't be subject to eternal harassment by the po-po for being drunk all the time, but the truth is, I don't even feel 22 most days. Some days I don't think I ever outgrew my teens. Other days I'm ready for social security. (in that, some days I am borderline senile, subject to falling asleep before primetime television, and I have two different days-of-the-week pill cases.)

My body? Ugh. I am as fit as an overweight 60-something. Although, that might be offensive to 60-somethings. MS definitely makes me feel older than I am, physically; from the twitches, to the stumbling, to the aches, to the injection scars, I am much more beat up than my 34 years would imply. And with a rack this size? And gravity?? You don't need to understand physics to understand the issue there. To be fair though, I have not a single grey hair and the smattering of pimples that my skin constantly produces would suggest someone much more youthful than 34. (I use the term "youthful" very loosely here.)

Financially? Ha. Just, ha. I still don't have a savings account and I think nothing of charging something that I don't really need but really must have despite already carrying a balance on my credit card. My debt to income ratio is for shit. Seriously. Adult? Psh. As if. Today though, I made my second financial step towards adulthood: I started a 403B. To be fair, the lady had to explain to me what a 403B was and I randomly selected an amount to invest each month without figuring out how it would impact our ability to pay our bills every month in our living-paycheck-to-paycheck existence, but yeah: 403B. Yay me.

(my first financially responsible "adult" move? (in case you're wondering) Getting half a mil worth of life insurance on both me and my husband when we had Callie. Because with an unstable mother and a father who rides a motorcycle? We owe her at least that much. Probably more.)

I just don't feel 34. I feel simultaneously older and younger than that everyday. Older when the pain hits or I happen to, I don't know, look in the mirror or try to button my jeans, and yet much (much) younger when I blow out the second set of speakers in my old as hell and poorly maintained car while rocking out to LMFAO or Kanye West. Granted, I feel slightly older when it's Aerosmith or Journey, but it's just as loud.

Also? As a final nail in the I-don't-know-how-old-I-am-but-I'm-sure-as-hell-not-grown-up coffin? I just made spaghetti for dinner. Kick-ass homemade sauce (so adult) with chicken nuggets covered in mozzarella cheese because I'm too lazy to make chicken parm (so not). I mean, I have college friends who wouldn't even stoop to that.

And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention: I have college friends. Meaning friends currently in college. Which, of course, confuses the hell out of my friends who are actually adults. Because what could I have in common with people who aren't even old enough to drink legally? Other than a need to drink, bad skin, rash decision making, and a lack of a moral compass?

Well, frankly, that's enough for me.

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