Some days I don’t feel like being a grown up.
Today was one such day.
My condo needed cleaning, my laundry needed washing, groceries needed to be bought, bills paid and my vehicle filled up with gas.
And don’t get me started on the pile of school work neatly stacked on my dining room table.
All I wanted to do was stay in bed and watch T.V. But an anxiety attack wouldn’t let me.
When we were little and we’d make-believe we are adults by playing house or “driving” our bike to the imaginary store, the illusory responsibility made for a fun-filled day.
But now responsibility is anything but pretend.
It announces itself at any hour of the day and stays until you face it head on.
Then chip away at it until it’s a tiny little lump.
Which is what I did.
But only after a private tantrum and a bribe of chocolate.