Adulthood Versus Waking Up All Sticky
I'm a bit slow on the uptake and it's taken me 30 plus years, but I've recently come to the conclusion that adulthood isn't as advertised. Now, I don't want to complain, but of course, I will. When we were kids adulthood seemed to be the pinnacle of existence. Of course, I thought they were exaggerating whenever an exhaustion laden adult muttered, "Wait until you're an adult." To us jobless, brand new body, bill-free, nothing to really worry about other than why we've been waking up all sticky in the morning us, being a grownup seemed to be too cool. The adult exhaustion we witnessed was always chalked up to how much fun they were having as grownups. After all, for grownups there's no bedtime, no school, and you theorize that waking up sticky in the morning has something to do with what you saw portrayed on Cinemax when you were supposed to be in bed. Well, frankly, now as an actual adult I am a dissatisfied customer and want a refund. For recompense I will accept:
1. The total return of my metabolism. I used to be able to eat a supersized everything with ice cream for desert and maintain a svelte, 150 pounds bod with no exercise. Today, all I have to do is walk past a donut and I gain 5 pounds.
2. The ability to stay up until 3 am and still wake up fresh as a donut right out the fryer after just a couple hours of sleep. Hmmm 2 donut references in 2 sentences. I must be hungry.
3. The ability to fuck more than once a night and for longer than 2 minutes. Okay, for the sake of transparency twice a night used to be only occasionally doable. It took some preparation on my part. I just had to meditate for an hour in the light of a full moon, eat a pound of raw liver, drink 6 raw eggs, and be blessed by the spirits of Barry White and Marvin Gaye two hours before the rendezvous. If I could accomplish this modest list of prenookie activities I could successfully complete 2 ugly bumps. Now, duration that never exceeded the 250 second threshold, but it was still longer than 240 seconds, damn it!
4. Delusional, Disney character-like optimism. I used to truly believe that everything was going to be okay, no matter what the circumstances. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING! We're facing a world where a convicted felon could possibly become the Commander and Chief of the most sophisticated military to ever exist. As a felon, he can no longer own a firearm, but as president, he'll be given access to the world's largest and most lethal nuclear arsenal! Even worse, a lot of his followers want to deny women the right to make decisions about their own bodies. I guess that falls in line with their leader who thought he could just grab a woman by the ___. So, apparently not only do women not have the right to govern their own bodies, they also don't have the right to be protected from sexual assault. I was stupid to be optimistic, but at least I could exist in the warm fuzziness of my delusion. The adult world is fucking scary! I want my fucking delusional optimism back!
5. A better world. My parents are from the dried out, recreational drug using burnt out, and totally hypocritical hippie generation. I was told that all of they're tree hugging, sticking flowers in the barrels of guns at anti-war protests, and supporting Dr. King gave me a better world to adult in. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? After they were forced to take a shower and get jobs these hippies created and/or invested in polluting, wasteful, and in many cases, death causing corporations that see profit over human lives. As to supporting Dr. King? They did and got bored when he was no longer there to eloquently call for a true brother and sisterhood of humanity on the evening news. That's why African American men are STILL being killed by police officers for misdemeanor crimes without any kind of trial. That's why the first African American first lady of this country was often called a, "Monkey" by those good conservative Christians who watch FOX News. Better world? Fuck that and fuck them! I was lied to. It's a good thing I have no say over what kind of nursing home my parents are going into at the end of their lives because if I did I'd find the closest thing to a medieval dungeon and toss them in there.
Adulthood as a product is probably the worst scam ever perpetrated on humanity and just about everything we're promised is a bunch of bull fritters. It's all cost with little benefit masked in the promise of pleasure, freedom, and independence. Don't believe me? Well consider the following:
Sex. Advertised in the media, sex is all passion and pleasure, just 2 beautiful people spotlessly giving in to their carnal nature. Everything is perfect, there's no sweating, or bruising from an enthusiastic, but poorly planned thrust, and the act is completely devoid of any kind of biological aftermath. The afterglow period is portrayed as two naked bodies lazily entwined. You never see the more realistic post coital wipe down, search for a towel to cover the wet spot, or the hushing involved when there's children in the next room.
Driving. Sure cars are great, but they're hungry beasts devouring a huge chunk of time and money. As to the promise of freedom? Have you ever been in California's Bay Area traffic? Believe me, there's no freedom there. You're trapped and surrounded by thousands of other people who're just as trapped as you while your means of transportation can only move a few feet at idle instead of the advised speed limit. However, owning a car provides a good lesson about the real world. It is by owning a car that one realizes that car insurance is the only thing you'll ever purchase that you'll need to prove that you really need to use when the time comes. So, you're paying for something that you must have but never use, and when you do need it, you need too prove it while also proving that someone caused you to need it and not vice versa. Of course, later on, you'll probably get penalized in the form of higher rates for using it, sometimes even when you're not at fault.
Power. They say we're in control and have a say in how things are run. After all, we get to vote for our leaders, right? If that's the case, why do I feel dirtier than a prostitute after a 12 hour night of servicing a Teamster convention when I vote? I always want a shower after filling out my ballot and should probably be checked for crabs just to be safe. God bless America!
Children. Oh they're cute and there is a strange compulsion in many of us to have them. Too bad you don't get to check out the fees like you do when buying a house prior to committing. What's worse, the fine print is written in invisible ink that only gradually shows up at certain predetermined times. Some revealed fine print include:
a) the first diaper explosion where you can only watch in shock and awe as that sweet little one expels a lava flow-like, seemingly endless amount of what can only be described as sphincter sludge.
b) the moment you realize that some of the standard equipment you're fond of on mommy is being sublet for up to 2 years by your wee little bairn.
c) the last little bit of fine print explains the need to have whispered, quiet as a church mouse sex or no sex at all for the next 18 years.
The Body: Now, due to a disability my body hasn't ever operated at peak efficiency, but when did my body start snapping, popping, and crackling like firecrackers on Chinese New Year when I get out of bed? I never used to pay attention to all those commercials for home modifications for the elderly. However, given the symphonic cartilage cacophony that happens every time I move now, I think I may just need one of those walk-in bathtubs or chairs you ride to get up and down the stairs without the need for that age old cry for help, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" Side bar: Thanks to the wonders of medical science, a pill can now be used for the very specific cry for help of, "I've fallen and I can't get it up!"
Finances: Get a college degree they say, you'll be better off than working a high school diploma only job, they say. Are you kidding me? Plumbers, truck drivers, electricians, UPS drivers, and some girl who'll show off her earlobes on Only Fans make waaaay more than I do and didn't have to go into debt up to their nipples to do it. I don't need to be rich, but shouldn't I make as much as the guy who unplugs your toilet after your 3 year old tried to flush an entire package of his mommy's sanitary napkins? I think so AND at least I have the wherewithal to keep my pants pulled up so no one has to see my tooshie trench.
There. I've pled my case. I want to go back to when I was 17 years old when everything worked, I didn't have a fucking clue, and I actually knew why I would wake up in the morning sticky.