Dear Adult World: It’s Me, Hannah

I don’t think I’m qualified to be a grown-up.

I can’t open a can. I don’t know how to whistle. Despite my best efforts, I hardly ever make my bed. Sometimes I forget to eat dinner and find myself wondering why I’m so hungry at 10pm. I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned. I almost exclusively buy Disney Princess band-aids, but I sometimes forget to buy extra lightbulbs. I still don’t own an iron.

I just moved into my first grown-up apartment this week. Sure, I lived in an apartment last year, but it was campus housing and I shared it with three other girls. There was no such thing as monthly rent, or landlords, or the rental of Uhaul vans, or even living alone. I like having my own space, but it’s going to be SO WEIRD.  I can’t help thinking of all the things that prevent me from being a grown-up, even though all evidence points to the contrary. My driver’s license says I can vote and drink, and I’m in graduate school, so apparently, I am a grown-up. I’m just not used to it yet.

This is pretty much me right now.

When I arrived in Milwaukee on Monday, it was the first time I’d been alone in my apartment since the ten minutes I spent three weeks ago waiting for my mom to arrive with the moving truck and before the movers themselves showed up on my doorstep. After 14 trips to unload the rest of my crap stuff from my car, it kind of started to sink in that I was alone. So, I did what any normal person would do. I put in A Very Potter Musical and finished unpacking. Well, sort of. There’s still some stuff in my closet that I’m ignoring until Friday. Because today and Thursday are full of the joys of ORIENTATION. Today was almost nine hours of non-stop reminders of adulthood responsibilities of being a grad student and a teaching assistant. When I got home a little after 5, I pretty much just did this:

 

I feel ya, buddy.

And I’ve been on my couch pretty much ever since. I did eat, and I’ve spent the rest of my time watching “One Tree Hill”, reading, wishing my bunny Indiana Jones James Bond were here with me, and eating graham crackers. I figure this is the last Wednesday night I’ll get to do any of that for a while, so I am making the most of it. And while I’m at it, I’m going to make a list of all the things I can do, whether or not they qualify me to be a grown-up.

I can make fifteen different types of cookies. I’ve hung all the pictures and curtains in my apartment. I can assemble a bookshelf. I know how to read. I am completely capable of making tea under a variety of circumstances. I can quote all of “Finding Nemo”, “Hairspray”, “1776” and “10 Things I Hate About You”. Yesterday I bought a printer and hooked it up and printed things without any help. I can French braid hair and put on eyeliner. I can snap my fingers. I do my own laundry. I can ride a bicycle. I know a lot of really terribly punny jokes. I’m pretty good at buying presents. I can swing higher than anyone I know on a swingset.

SO THERE.

P.S. Thanks for rubbing it in, Sutton. “Anyone Can Whistle”? Yeah, except me. But other than that, this song makes me feel pretty good about myself.

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