Rambling Thoughts on Being Adult-ish

So I thought today I would broaden the focus of the blog a bit and not really talk about writing. Instead, I ramble.
---

On Monday, I received a letter from someone. It was not a nice letter. It was a curt, business-like letter that basically said if I didn't do something in ten days, the writer of the letter would be forced to file in small claims court.

I looked at my friend who was visiting this past weekend and said, "Really?!"

Long story short, that should not happen. Things have, in theory, been figured out and I have been cleared of responsibility. At least, that is what should be happening.

But it was one of those reminders that I get from time to time that, well, reminds me that I ain't a kid anymore. Young, yes, but an adult nonetheless because of someone can file against me in small claims court.

Other reminders include: getting wedding invitations in the mail, having friends who have babies, receiving AARP cards in the mail, having to buy flashlights in case the lights go out, watching my bank account balance drop, realizing that there are moments when my parents are acting childish and I am actually the voice of reason, watching TV and seeing someone I know/went to school with doing cooler things than me, and having to go out at 10pm to get milk because I want some milk in my evening tea, dammit.

Somehow though I still get pimples. I thought they went away, friends, once you hit this weird adult age. Why was I lied to for years?

I was also reminded this morning when reading this article in The Atlantic. In a nutshell, it is about being a single woman in today's world. I don't even want to go into the article all that much because I am not sure how I feel about it overall, but I suggest you read it (though it is a bit long). And then skim the comments. Some make valid points and others...well...piss me off. I'm sure you can find the ones that had me sitting here fuming.

If you know me, you know I've been mildly obsessed with articles that have been written in the past year or two that basically say that I, as a master's degree carrying young black woman, have less of a chance of getting married and that it is basically my fault. Of course, they put it more eloquently.

I have perhaps been obsessed with it because suddenly these discussions relate to me to a real way and my 14-year-old self's dream of being married, being a successful writer-bookstore owner-PhD extraordinaire and being pregnant by 28. Yes, that dream, my friends, is looking less likely and less appealing. I find myself editing the dream all the time now. There is a picture in my head of the future, but it is all fuzzy and there is no real timestamp.

My father mentioned buying a house in our conversation the other day. As in me, one day, buying a house. And while I thought he was crazy (and still think he is), I realized that it was 100% plausible that I will one day buy a house and, more than likely, buy it solo. And, to be honest, that idea excited the hell out of me. Because owning your own house is like having a room of one's own to the max. Virginia Woolf would love it.

--

Okay, so those were my rambles, but, as I was writing this, I realized that another reminder I have of being adult-ish is the growing amount of experience I now can use in my writing. I imagine older writers have a bunch of stuff they can just flip to in their minds. Like imagine what my soon to be 97 year old grandfather could write about? I like how getting older, getting almost sued, and being told I will most likely be a spinster for the foreseeable future actually just adds to my writing, making the writing more interesting if not better overall. I like how I am just at the beginning of that too. I like how while I am being reminded that I am getting older, I am also reminded that there is just so much more to experience, to write about, to learn.

So I made the post about writing. So sue me.