I don’t like being an adult

So, I’m turning 30 this week and I guess that means I’m an adult. I don’t like being an adult—you know, a proper adult. It sucks, and it’s expensive.

Trigger warning: In this post, I sound like an entitled brat—I am aware, and I apologise.

Far from home

Since my husband and I have moved to Australia, we’ve been living on our own. In South Africa, we both lived with our parents because it’s just too much money for each of us to get our own place, and it was also cheaper than getting a place for the two of us.

I miss living with my parents. Not only because I love and miss my parents (and dogs), but I love how much time I saved.

I wash the dishes every night. I make lunch and dinner. Then I have to do laundry, but I refuse to iron. I hang the t-shirts on hangers when they come out of the machine and hang them on the clothing line like that. Voila, minimal creases. Well, it takes about a day and a half for a load of washing to dry because we’re in the rainy season, so most of the time the laundry hangs on a clothing horse in the living area.

Did I mention I have to cook? Why do we have to eat three times a day? I never realised how much I eat until recently, when I’ve been forced to make my own food. I’m not even a good cook—my poor husband. He’s a much better cook than I am. However, he’s working and I’m still looking for a job, so I’ve taken over most of the domestic duties. I can clean, and I love a tidy house, but the cooking thing is not my strong suit.

I’m also in charge of buying groceries, and since I am a child, I buy sweets and snacks with every order.

I miss home

I miss my parents, and not having to decide what’s for dinner. I miss my dogs and throwing my dirty clothes in the magic laundry hamper (and clean clothes come back in two to three business days).

I also miss my friends, my car, my job, karate, and my independence. However, I do not miss the fuckery that’s going on in South Africa (and it’s been going on for a while, with no end in sight).

So, I guess it’s time to man up.



P.S. If you’d like to contact me, feel free to comment below, send an email to thatmichelleperson@gmail.com, or follow me on Twitter @M_ClutterBox.