Real Walls

Years ago, my poor bedroom was the victim of violent creativity attack. Hastily-torn magazine pages and well-intentioned birthday cards suffocated its walls. Knick-knacks, trophies, and glittery picture frames soldiered its bookcase. Ranks of clothing and brightly patterned carpet buried its floor. A few truly unfortunate spaces had a sharpie pointed at them, and were made to sing Switchfoot songs. Even the ceiling didn’t escape the massacre, pierced with the deadly glare of glow-in-the-dark stars.

The devastation of this tragic war, wrought by my teenagerism, was documented by a single photograph:

Veggie Tales, the lyrics to "Let That Be Enough," and general slobbishness.

 Ah, my poor, poor bedroom. And I am to blame.

When I didn’t get the South Africa job, I knew it was time to initiate a full recovery. Because of the sharpie and the spray paint (that’s right: spray paint.), part 1 of operation:restoration for my room needed to be a fresh coat of “Mossy Log” and “Swiss Coffee.” So, with my mother as a trusted consult, I have redeemed my bedroom. Its walls are no longer calling out in distress and its wood floor is free to breathe:

Clockwise around the room...

These closet doors are now the bane of my existence.

Floor! Baseboards!

The war is over, Real Walls officially occupy my bedroom, and I must say - sometimes this adulthood thing ain't so bad!

(Watch out, closets!!! You’re next.)

Real Anticipation

Get excited, because my next post will be about this…

and this…

and these…

:)

Real Sleeping Habits

I am ashamed to say that I turned 8 years old when I graduated. I say this because the next daily routine that I’m attacking with vigor is my bedtime.

I realized I had a problem when I woke up yesterday to get to a 10am church service, and it felt like the break of dawn. Granted, my phone never actually made the automatic switch to “fall back” for Daylight Savings Time (which made for a really awkward visit to a new church in the area!), but the fact of the matter is that I struggled to keep my eyes open all day. I nodded off during what was actually a pretty stellar comeback by the Vikings, and then again in the shower this morning, after an attempt to wake up at a reasonable hour.

I am suffering from sleeping-in syndrome. It’s a circle of hibernation: I have nothing to do, therefore I stay up later and sleep in, therefore I have nothing to do, therefore I stay up later and sleep in… My new REM cycle has turned me into a zombie-like, coffee-craving person up until the hour of noon. Just about anything in the AM is painful. Have I turned into a vampire?!?! Hmmm… No, the image that comes to mind is actually Jack Black in Orange County, interrupting daytime guests in his underwear:

Yikes! There’s an image of Adulthood that I’d like to not turn into!

So once again, I say enough is enough! I am mommy-ing myself into shape. Lights out & computer away at midnight, even if everything in me wants to whine “but I’m not tiiiiirrrrreeeeddddd!” Wakey-wakey at 9:30, even if everything in me wants to succumb to my comforter cocoon. Real Sleeping Habits.

Oh good lord. This has never been my strong suit, even in college when I did have a life. Maybe I’ll print out a picture of Jack Black and put it on my wall for inspiration. Maybe with “DON’T BE THIS GUY” in big red sharpie letters across the top and vampire fangs, to remind me to stay away from the nocturnal.

I’ll say this for myself, though: Today I woke up at 9am, albeit groggily and grumpily, and put Real Pants on. 

By the way... Would you rather forget Daylight Savings while visiting a church for the first time in the fall or in the spring? Better to be an hour late or an hour early to church??

Real Pants

Yesterday, I promised that I would wear pants, get a life, and be an adult. Today, I am beginning that mission.

A “Real Adult” would have a concrete plan for becoming one (does that sentence make sense?!?!?!), so I’m adding modifications to my daily routine.

I’m going to start simple: the sweatpants. I need to start getting dressed every day, even if I don’t have any particular reason to. And – wow – when I write it out loud like that, it sounds WAY lamer than I thought it was! Ugh. But in my defense, I am a bum-around-the-houser, which means that a well-spent Saturday is one where I get to be a hot grungy mess. Which is fine every once in awhile, but now that I have an endless array of “Saturdays” before me, enough is enough. I mean, really. If I hadn’t gone to church today, I don’t think that I would know that it’s Sunday.

And I’m realizing that these sweatpants have become a wardrobe siren. Really, they are too comfortable to not be enticingly lazy. They’re over eight years old, and everything about them is perfect, sweatpants-wise. They’re so wonderful that I hate having to change out of them, and they’re so worn-in that I hate to wear them outside. The problem is, this means that I tend to not leave the house. I realize how insane this sounds, but my sweatpants have become a vice. Like the gluttony of loungewear.

So I say, get behind me, sweatpants! Today, and every day hereafter, I am wearing a reasonable pair of jeans/shorts and/or a skirt/dress.

Ok, so today I technically wore leggings. But I wore them to church, and that’s an adult-like activity, so it counts.

More life-changes to come. This is happening, this adulthood.

Project: Adulthood

I need to get a life.

No, I really do. I’m not just saying this because I’m being another emo blogger. I’m saying this because I literally went outside today for the first time since this weekend… To the library and the fabric store… With my mother. And I love my mother, but I need to get a life.

My parents keep commenting on how incredulous it is that I can coop myself up so much. The internet helps, admittedly. I can stay connected with the world from my living room, wearing my sweatpants. I can entertain myself with this blog and this one and this one, feeling vicariously productive from my living room, still wearing my sweatpants. Having all 7 Harry Potter books immediately on-hand helps me coop-up, too. So does having every episode of Star Trek ever. There are distractions galore in this household, partially thanks to my father. Who I love. But I need to get a life.

The reality is, I graduated from college, almost got a job, but didn’t. And I have no idea what to do next. I am faced, currently, with an entirely blank slate to fill with “life.” These are the formative years. The years where I’m going to grow as an individual. The building blocks for a career that I hope to someday have. (Ack! Daunting!) And I am determined to not spend them all in my living room… Let me rephrase that, actually: in my parent’s living room, in my sweatpants.

So, I’m going to get a life. And I’m going to blog about it. Dare I say it, this will require REAL pants! Hopefully even the professional, non-denim kind, as that is generally a mark of having a real, adult life.

You, nameless reader, will be my accountability: I will wear pants! I will get a life! I will be an adult!