Dear Future Me,
Remember that old saying, “The more things change, the more things stay the same?” Well frankly that is crap. The more things change, the more things fucking change. The more things change, the more you wake up in the morning asking yourself how the hell you became the person you are. The more things change, the more you have to wonder how you got that traffic cone stuck to your penis. Again.
Here is my current (as in happening right-this-second) example: I am going away for the weekend to visit my friend Trevs, and I’m packing, and I just can’t believe how different things are.
For one, I’m packing a suitcase to go away for a weekend. Okay, so I’ve carried bigger backpacks, but still: I found a suitcase, I folded my clothes and put them in and then put all my toiletries/hair products in a separate little zipper pouch-thing (rather than tossing them into a giant sack of crap, as was my way in times past) and I even have a separate, MATCHING zipper pouch-thingie for my makeup to keep it organized.
Listen, here is how I used to pack: First, determine what clothes are clean. Pack the bare minimum necessary to avoid nudity for the weekend into either a giant crappy backpack or a series of garbage bags. Throw in makeup/hair products/ shampoo/conditioner/whatever the fuck else until satisfied. Scramble madly at the last minute for those things you don’t think of, like toothpaste and tampons. Pack half a book to read, maybe. Let the ipod and cellphone run out of batteries fifteen minutes into the drive to the train. Realize you’ve forgotten something relatively important that will have to be purchased IMMEDIATELY upon arrival at your destination (contact lens solution, birth control, a soul). Forget to eat or shower, and enjoy.
This time I did laundry in advance, I called a family member for a ride, I packed several changes of underwear and I even did some dishes. I paid my rent, booked a doctors’ appointment and remembered to get the address of the place I’m staying earlier than five minutes after I’ve climbed into a cab, and I even managed to visit the bank to take out cash to pay for the cab, just in case. Heck, I’m going to leave my Sopie a note to eat my asparagus so it doesn’t go bad while I’m gone.
I’ve become everything I hate.
Once upon a time I was a free spirit, following the wind where it led me, to adventure unknown. Now I make a point of hanging up my dress pants so I wont have to iron them when I get back because goddamnit I’ve become someone who irons.
Being a grownup is like having Stockholm syndrome: eventually, you start to sympathize with your captors.
May you continue to have marvellous adventures, even if they are about as spontaneous as a root canal,
P.S. Yes, I know I don’t update. I know this post was kind of lame, but hopefully post-weekend I will have many exciting stories to share of debauchery and lush extravagance. Maybe.