Adultation... or is it Adultery? (No definitely not that)

I had an "I hate being an adult" day. No, scratch that, an "I hate being an adult" weekend. I booked a flight for the wrong date on stupid expedia dot com, let my crusade email account fill to maximum capacity now making it impossible to recieve or send anything and lastly (and perhaps most importantly) I lost our cable bill. Yes, I'm sure its beneath some pile of super important papers I have loosely filed places, but it's stubbornly decided to teach me a lesson and got lost somewhere. The lesson I've learned: pay the day you get the bill. Now I'm cowering by my computer just waiting for Timewarner to revoke my wireless access. Read now... it could go unfinished. That would happen though, like some representation of my reluctance into adult realm. No I don't want to put my laundry in the properly demarkated droors. No I don't want to take myself to Urgent Care for a cold and then drive all the way to the pharmacy when traffic is bad on 54. No I don't want to print out itineraries and mapquest stuff.

So what would be the alternative to this lifestyle? I would pack my back pack with just enough food (chips, chocolate covered espresso beans, sour patch kids) and move into the library. Once there, I would layer on a bunch of sweaters and some strange sort of scarf and read A Wrinkle in Time and the Bible. I would sleep there and stuff. It wouldn't be wierd trust me.

I saw my dear writer friend Mrs. Ruth Moose tonight at the odd coffee shop beside the cool movie theater. (If you don't know her hit google now and be amazed). I saw her and kind of forgot myself. I practically ran in for the hug. We all got into a discussion about Jane Austen, specifically the Becoming Jane movie. I proudly state, "Ruth, I didn't like it that much" She loved it. I continue, "It made me sad, because she was this lonely, single writer woman her whole life. I don't want to be her." I then realized I was staring at four, really beautiful single writer women of all ages; Ruth included. How sad that I would sum up the impact of everyone there (past and present) in terms of our status as married or single. I've made a mental note of this attitude and plan to squash it next time it crops up. Ruth mentioned my little creation Sybby Bell Grier and I resolved to finish my book. I will finish the book and actually think digitally more than once a month.

All in all I'm grateful that my life has more direction than what a library sleepover with sour patch kids would lend. I will write some thoughts about God and Jesus tomorrow on the Sabbath. Right now, I'm thankful that God has given me so much grace even when I fail at my standards of adultness or adultation (that's adaptation into new life stage). I'm thankful for medicine for colds when the weather changes; for a roomate who doesn't flip out over my lapse with Timewarner; for my laid back friend who eats mexican for an hour longer than necessary so we can stay until the movie starts at 9:20; for sweet reminders to not lose my vision or give up on my plot and for coffee (which has no place here except for how dearly I love it).

I actually do want to be like Ruth and her gang: beautiful, single writer women. That's what I shall be when I grow up; which I think is now, which means I'm confused. I vow only to embrace adultation if I can pack my back pack sometimes and drink margheritas on my way to the library where I can sometimes sleep.