Jessica Bellamy

Being responsible.

NO.

Tonight, my funny friend Caro said something funny. She said that whenever she wears high heels she feels a bit like a kid dressing up as an adult, because high heels just don’t feel natural, they don’t feel right, and all of us nodded vehemently and agreed.

THIS IS CARO.

 

This got me thinking. Yknow what also makes me feel like a kid dressing like an adult?

EVERYTHING RESPONSIBLE THAT RESPONSIBLE ADULTS DO.

Tax. Grocery shopping. Netbanking. Disposing of dead insects. Dusting my desk. Setting an alarm. Finding new pens. Getting a passport. Increasing your credit limit. Ringing your mobile phone company. Investing in a paperweight. Watering plants. Framing something arty. Buying batteries for anything bluetooth-capable. Syncing your mobile contacts. Remembering to wear a watch. Writing a to-do list. Getting the right-sized staples. Swimming caps. Going for walks for spinal health. Updating your glasses prescription. Getting a new pillow. Ironing anything. Taking off nail polish using nail polish remover. Backing up your computer files. Ordering your playlists into cohesion. Watching documentaries. Decorating. Investing in a windchime. Cooking with beans. Buying an expensive kettle. Learning to turn on an electric fire. Couch-shopping. Joining an aquatic centre. Expiry dates. Alcohol. Dietary supplements. Spirituality. Star signs. Wearing the right clothes for that day’s weather. EVERYTHING.

But mainly, it’s tax. Tax freaks me out so much that the thought of it makes me want to hide in that weird misbalanced set of shelves we have in our bathroom, which would probably topple over taking me with it, but then tax would be the least of my problems. Tax freaks me out so much. Tax is the thing I have nightmares about, where a tax vaccuum cleaner chases me down a long windowless hallway, then affixes its suction nozzle into my belly button and sucks out any joyful experience I might have ever had in my life.

I WILL GET YOU JUST WATCH ME

I guess what I’m trying to say is that being responsible is not that fun, but probably pretty important. And when you grow up and turn responsible, you may just see that everything isn’t really so hard, and as a result have fewer psychological nightmares, or at least ones that are less transparent in their symbolism.

Maybe life is just something we stumble our way through; a series of progressively pricklier brambles that we dodge and weave. And when we get to the end we can dust off our hands and say “WELL AT LEAST WE TRIED”. And then lurch eyeball-first into the vacuum cleaner.

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