With it being my junior year of college, nearing my senior year, I’m faced with the inevitable fact that someday I will actually have to be an adult, living by society’s standards.
This obvious fact has always been in the back of my mind, but it hit me with a real pang the other day when I seriously had to do laundry. As I no longer live in a house with my parents or in the campus dorms, I am at that point where I have to use real, grown-up laundromats. It sucks. As if it’s not enough of a pain having to wait around for the washing cycle to finish while you have much better things to be doing like watching How I Met Your Mother on Netflix, trudging several blocks with my bright orange bag of dirty clothes makes me want to break down crying. As I clambered up the hills of Capitol Hill, I suddenly had the thought that from here on for like, the REST OF MY LIFE I’m going to have to do my own laundry. And probably a *husband’s and child’s laundry as well at some point. What a horrid thought.
*Said husband is expected to do the laundry 50% or more of the time. It’s not the 1950’s.
The laundry revelation on top of my current playing of the “waiting game” in terms of summer internships is setting me up for a serious Demi Lovato a la “Camp Rock” moment.
You know, where she sings more self-affirming or self-questioning songs than you could shake a stick at.
“WHO WILL I BE??!!”
I, too, ask myself this often, Demi.