Being an adult is scary

I’m 32 in about five month. Yeah, I know I’m a proper old maid now. I’ve only just got my own place and a vaguely decent, if temporary, job. It’s great to finally know what I want to do for a living, at least for now.
I waited until comparatively ‘late’ to leave home. Most of my contemporaries have a child or three, are married or attached and are doing the full time job/marriage/mortgage thing. I’d been 31 for three months when I moved in to my little house, I’m single (happily so, thanks for asking/assuming otherwise), and ecstatically child-free – except for the Hell Hounds but people don’t count companion animals for some reason.

Anyway, I’m having trouble adapting to being a householding adult, a real adult; I still think I need to go up to my room to get some space, when I have a whole house, I worry about paying rent, and forget about the Council Tax and what day I have to put the bins and recycling boxes out. I leave lights on and regularly run out of milk because mum always remembered to buy bread and milk, and would turn lights off when I forgot.

And then there’s working. I have to work full time to pay my bills but sometimes I forget that and only remember when I’ve rung in sick. Then I get more stressed and make myself worse. Once my temporary jobs end I have to find another; going from financial feast to famine isn’t easy, and I don’t like being a burden to anyone. It’s so disheartening at times.

Yeah being an adult is difficult, I’m sure I didn’t sign up for difficult.

Right, now I’ve depressed myself, I’m going for a train ride away from the Pit of Despair or I won’t sleep tonight.

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