You might be a semi real grown up if one of your classmates tells you “everyone thinks you’re very together” and you don’t spit out your angry balls** in her face from laughing so hard. On the one hand, I’m flattered because I tried (semi) hard my whole college career to make it seem like I was a together, competent, almost-professional. From insisting that I had car sickness on a Tuesday when I made my supervisor pull over so I could throw up at a gas station, to occasionally sleeping in my clothes so I could wake up and make it to class in five minutes, I always put on a good facade. But no one ever fell for it. Maybe it was because most of my classmates saw me out at the bar Tuesday-Sunday, or maybe it was because my housemates and I once won a $50 bar tab by winning Quizzo for which the topic was “dirty minds,” or maybe it was because I called the bar “home” as much as I called it by name.
On the other hand, I’m horrified. Have I really reached the point where I can be wearing a Tiki mask and holding a drink which is the combination of hard cider and CINNAMON FLAVORED WHISKEY and someone still tells me I really give off the appearance of having it all together? Is it wrong that I miss when people would see me Sunday mornings and shake their head in a way that kind of said “thank god for you because you set the baseline for being a mess and I’m below it”?
Mostly though, I’m confused. I guess it’s because I’m with myself all day so I frequently catch myself in moments of not very togetherness. Like, not two minutes ago when I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “you look kind of heavy” and then grabbed myself a beer from the fridge. Or when I had to skip dinner because I was too full from eating so many cookies (which I ate because I wanted them gone so as not to tempt me in the future). Or when the guy at the liquor store stopped ID-ing me and started greeting me by name.
It’s kind of comforting to know that “having it all together” is a matter of perception. Next time you see a person who really seems to have it figured out, keep in mind that she probably goes home and strips in her living room because wearing professional clothes makes her want to cry. (Or maybe thats just me?)
**angry balls= angry orchard cider and fireball. Sicko.