19 Jun

So I turned eighteen a few weeks ago. This means I am legal to drink, to vote, and generally to make decisions that are best left to mature people. I am a legal adult.

This is a very concerning thought for a few reasons. One of those is that yesterday, this legal adult went outside in a rainstorm and jumped in puddles. I also feel this strange temptation to go down to a park and walk in the mud in my bare feet. I also enjoy spinning in circles for no apparent reason, pretending to be an airplane, and putting on slow songs in order to spin in slower circles and wave my arms around. This is evidence that I am a spectacular dancer (insert sarcasm), but it is also evidence that I  have the maturity level of a small child. What worries me is that I act like a five year old and they want me to make decisions about the rest of my life. Big decisions. Not like ‘I want a puppy’ and ‘please buy me another book’.

Speaking of buying, there’s another concern. When I have money, I want two things: good books and good food. Occasionally movies and clothes. But no, you also need money for things like gas and phone bills and utilities and school and existing. I don’t want to pay to live, I want to buy books! Also, notebooks and the internet cost money too, unless you write on yourself and only use the free internet at Tim Horton’s. And I like music! What if I want to go to concerts or musicals? Then not only do I have to buy tickets, but I have to have nice clothes and stuff.

Clothing. I can dress myself, but my dad is constantly reminding me that I have to make sure I look nicer for events than I do for school and home because I’ll be in pictures and I don’t look good in pictures but I’m also bad at taking them which means I have to be in them. So I have to look nice. Right now I have one pair of jeans that doesn’t have holes and isn’t covered in nail polish. I covered a pair of jeans in nail polish for a reason, but that’s not the point. I also forget that I have to do laundry. Then I forget that I washed my clothes. I also need to remember that I can’t write on myself because it looks weird. I can’t do my own makeup and the height of my hair accomplishment is sometimes it stays in a messy bun. I feel like I’m going to have a hard time existing.

Survival would be another issue. I’m very bad at keeping out of trouble. I broke my arm three times as a child and once it was from falling out of bed. You may now be saying ‘you’re grown up now, you’ll do better’. Last night, I ran into a doorway face first. I now have a swollen lip and the bridge of my nose is bruised. This is because I forgot to put my hands out when walking in the dark. I’m doing so much better. Today, I cut my hand when the entire pane of glass popped out of the cupboard door. Luckily, I caught the glass and it didn’t shatter. But I used three band-aids and got polysporin everywhere. Do you see when I’m worried? I’ll probably die on my own from blood loss after slipping and falling on the shattered remains of my dishes. I’m surprised every time I come home alive from driving myself somewhere.

So now you know something new about me. I am completely unprepared for adulthood. The only adult thing I can do is cook, sometimes, but one time I didn’t realise that we had put chives in the basil container. Also, I can’t make grilled cheese without burning it. I worry myself.

Long story short, growing up is a lot harder than it looks, and it’s very expensive. However, maybe I’ll sleep better now that I’ve told the internet about my concerns.


p.s. If you have any advice about how not to accidentally be seriously injured in my own home, please share. It’s a matter of great concern.

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Posted by on June 19, 2014 in Little Adventures


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Laura Gabrielle Feasey

Spectrum Educational Services

Engaging Life Issues Autistically


revealing my inner narrator


Where I keep my knit hats, my mommy eyes, and my writing muse

Zounds, Alack, and By My Troth

A tragical-comical-historical-pastoral webcomic by Ben Sawyer

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