I hate adulting, but that's what I'm finding myself doing today. Some of me thinks it's punishment. Another part of me is telling myself it's good for me. Another worrying part starts berating myself for past choices and decisions which make me want to throw up.
And then I calm down, take a deep breath and look at the matters to hand.
And then I remember that I can't leave the house until the postie comes - knowing also that the postie will more than likely circumvent the house and leave the parcel at the local post office. Living in a flat, they do that with monotonous regularity.
Regardless, today is "Sort it out" Day.
I've completed the paperwork for my new job. Tick.
For the first time in ages, I've looked at my superannuation balance. It's nearly doubled in the last five years, which is a good thing.
After two years of living on a fixed income, I've split my salary. 10% is going into an account I almost never use - out of sight, out of mind and all that. See, adulting!
I've hoovered. I've cleaned my desk off - which is a task in itself. It needed to be photographed to prove there's an adequate work environment here.
I've booked a ticket to Hobart to see my cousin in September. Despite living 20 minutes walk away, she's never been to MONA. It has to be done. It also gives me something to look forward to.
And now it is time to start putting that clothing I rarely wear onto Facebook Marketplace - I like the thought of shifting it on rather than taking it straight to the Salvos.
I remember a friend once telling me that she wished there was somebody out there to tell them that they were doing a good job as an adult. They were very obsessed with things such as your super balance (often asking what it as dinner conversation - along with questions about your stock portfolio and other completely inappropriate questsions).
What nobody tells you is that nobody is going to tell you that you're doing a good job with your life. You just have to get on with it. What's right for one person is wrong for another. And you have to do what's best for you. And pat yourself on the back for being alive, getting the bills paid and placing one foot in front of the other and getting through it like everybody else.
Oh, and the parcel was delivered straight to the post office. Who knew...
1 comment:
Yeah its a bit like when you tidied yr room and yr mum didnt notice. Except in my case I then wondered if it had to be done at all.
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