As Told by Eggs: Your Progress in “Adulting”
Thirteen seconds ago I was putting away the shirts I had hung on my shower curtain to dry because I don’t believe in dryers. As if I would spend four quarters on something I don’t need. Please, I’m a twenty-something. I’d much rather spend lots and lots of quarters on experiences like a round trip ticket: destination Europe and the like. That, I needed.
While putting away my shirts I was thinking about writing and how my friend who I love dearly told me tonight that I was over analyzing my writing. She’s right, by the way.
I also was thinking about how yesterday morning I set off the fire alarm at 7:30am. I decided I must write about the experience now. Laughing aloud at how I can disrupt the simplest things such as a morning routine I’ve been conducting for 20-something years, I gracefully leapt to my computer and did not smack my knee on the makeshift footstool I found on the side of the road during Fargo Clean Up Week. Just kidding, I totally smacked my knee. “Uhm, ow!”
I immediately turned around to pour myself the wine remaining in the $7 bottle of Barefoot powerfully manning my kitchen counter. The soon-to-be bruise was hurting and I knew a counteractive measure must be taken. The stars for writing had finally aligned: wine + a clean glass + unfinished chores + a burning desire to share with the world how I fail at simple things.
So, yesterday I was frying two eggs for breakfast before my three minute commute to work. Unsurprisingly, I was running just slightly behind my goal of being 2.5 minutes early for work. Sometimes when I’m running late I like to make it a game: “Can Alexis Look Presentable With Only 25 Minutes?” “15 minutes?” “5 Minutes?!” “CAN SHE DO IT?!” “SHE COULD GO ALL THE WAAAAAAY (to looking presentable enough to sit in a corner office making snide comments intermittently throughout the work day to her office buddy who, much to her credit, always laughs no matter how bizarre the comment).
Regardless, I was late. This lateness prompted me to set the stove to the highest setting. I felt much more comfortable going about my other morning routine tasks because at least I was multi-tasking. Multi-tasking is really good for you, did you know that? Again, just kidding, it’s not good for you at all.
I got my clothes together for my second job and made funny faces in the mirror while pondering what tattoo I would get if someone was holding a gun to my head making me choose. It’s difficult to say, but in the heat of the moment, I think I would go with a tree. A tree is actually not the worst choice because they help us breathe and, personally, I love breathing. “Dear God, thank you for the trees.”**
I was in the middle of making a fish face when I heard the shrill alarm. Shocked, I opened my apparently unopened eyes to the smoke that had filled my efficiency apartment. “Where did all this smoke come from?! Mom would be so disappointed in me right now. I hope the eggs are still edible – she’d be even more disappointed in me if I were to throw away eggs that were perfectly fine four minutes ago.”
Goosebumps covered my skin and all the hair on my legs I had just shaved off grew back the instant the crisp, fall air overtook my apartment after opening the windows. I grabbed a canvas painting I had purchased on clearance from T.J. Maxx and began to fan the fire alarm.
On the bright side, I was pleased to know my fire alarm worked because I had actually been wondering about its status as a functioning appliance. On the dark side, I was standing like an idiot in the middle of my apartment fanning an inanimate object that was screaming at me. Me, a hungry, late for work twenty-something who maintains little patience and sucks at cooking. Really, I’m not even worth it – I promise.
I prayed my neighbors wouldn’t hate me while I choked down the burnt eggs and sprinted out the door.
The worst part about all this is that I’m honest to goodness not terrible at cooking eggs.
Although, I did learn from this experience that if there is anything that makes you question your progress in “adulting” it is fanning an inanimate object that is screaming at you at 7:30 a.m.
Other things that may make you question your progress in “adulting” are:
- cover letters
- rear ending a car on Hwy 10 (the road wasn’t even icy)
- a smoking steering wheel
- locking yourself and a dog out of the house you’re supposed to be dog/house sitting (90 minutes later you find the spare key)
- your level of willingness to commit to purchasing a table
- giving yourself a pep talk to do the dishes
- still saying “I’m working on decorating…” after living in your apartment for 10 months
- maintaining your favorite book is a children’s book
- having dreams about becoming a prostitute in order to pay the bills
- Googling “what is wrong with me” upon reacting strongly to a rather insignificant happening
Please return to read this list as often as you need to feel better about yourself. In case you are wondering, yes, I have done all of the above.
**Credit for this prayer goes to a friend from college.
Featured image courtesy of unsplash.
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