The Man, the Myth, the Laundry…

Today I woke up and decided I was going to be an adult.
Not just a functioning human being—an actual adult.
The kind who pays bills without sighing, who remembers where they put their keys, and who doesn’t use coffee as a moral support animal.

I got out of bed with purpose.
I told myself, today will be different.
Today, I would take control of my life.

And then I walked into the kitchen and saw yesterday’s dishes staring at me like they’d been betrayed.
Apparently, “future me” didn’t handle them last night because “future me always has more energy.”
Future me did not have more energy.
Future me had a headache and a toddler who wanted yogurt with no spoon.

I still tried.
I packed snacks, found matching socks, and even convinced myself I could shower before leaving the house.
That was bold.
That was rookie-level optimism.

Halfway through trying to look put together, I remembered something important:
Adults are supposed to do paperwork.
Or taxes.
Or book dentist appointments.
Or something equally horrifying.
So I made a list—a responsible, adult-looking list.

Then I immediately ignored it.

Instead, I did what every grown-up does when they don’t know where to start:
I cleaned something random.
Not the dishes, because obviously that would have been helpful.
No.
I cleaned the top drawer of the fridge, like some kind of desperate archaeologist digging through artifacts of forgotten condiments.

By noon, I had accomplished exactly two things:

1. Not crying.
2. Getting my kid’s jacket on after three attempts because apparently sleeves are the enemy.

At some point, I paid a bill.
I don’t remember which one.
Something came out of my bank account, and I decided that counted as responsible adulthood.
If the wrong company got my money, that’s between them and karma.

And here’s the punchline:
Being an adult today didn’t feel like a grand achievement.
It felt like trying to carry groceries into the house while the bag is tearing and you’re just praying nothing hits the sidewalk.
You’re not graceful, you’re not wise, you’re not in control—
you’re just moving forward because stopping costs more.

But the day isn’t over.
I’ll probably do one more grown-up thing.
Maybe I’ll finally fold the laundry that’s been waiting so long it should be paying rent.
Or maybe I’ll just sit on the couch and convince myself that breathing in and out counts as progress.

Honestly?
Some days, being an adult is winning tiny battles that no one will ever see.
And today, I’ll take whatever victories I can get.