Apparently I’m the Adult

Some weeks I sit down to write this blog and thing, What the hell am I going to talk about?

This was one of those weeks.

I didn’t go on some exciting adventure. I didn’t have a disastrous date. I didn’t have some life-changing revelation while drinking my morning coffee.

I worked. I got annoyed. I questioned people’s common sense more times than I’d like to admit. And apparently, I’ve expanded my unpaid Uber services to include groups of teenagers.

Oh, and somewhere in between all of that, I had a minor existential crisis about my appearacnce, my love life, and the possibility of being alone forever.

You know.

Just your average week at 43.

Apparently Deadlines Are Just Suggestions Now

If you work in accounting, you know that October 15th isn’t just another day on the calendar. It’s a deadline. A real one. One that we’ve known about for quite some time.

And yet, somehow, every single year, we act surproised when it arrives.

Here’s what I don’t understand.

We have internal deadlines for a reason. They’re not there because someone got bored and decided to start adding dates to a spreadsheet for fun. They’re there so work can be completed, reviewed, processed, and finalized without everyone losing their minds at the last possible second.

But apparently, those dates are more like gentle recommendations.

Oh, you wanted that done last week? Interesting.

And then, when the actual deadline arrives, there’s this expectation that everyone else should suddenly rearrange their lives to accomodate work that should’ve been completed days ago.

Because obviously, if something comes through at 4:45 p.m., everyone should just cancel dinner, forget their families, and prepare to spend the evening staring at their computers.

I’m sorry. Did we all agree to this?

Don’t get me wrong. I understand busy season. I understand that things happen, clients are late, unexpected issues come up, and sometimes you genuinely have to work longer hours.

But there’s a difference between something being unavoidable and something becoming everyone else’s emergency because it wasn’t handled when it should’ve been.

And what bothers me most isn’t even the work.

It’s the lack of consideration.

Because when one person doesn’t respect a deadline, it doesn’t just affect that person. It affects everyone waiting on them.

Apparently, that’s a concept we’re still working on.

Maybe I’ll add it to next year’s calendar.

October 15th: Tax Deadline, Also, Please Remember Other People Exist.

Meanwhile, My Son Has Apparently Started a Transportation Company

As if work wasn’t enough, last weekend Parker decided I needed another responsibility.

Apparently, he and his friends wanted to go to the mall.

Great. Have fun.

Except there was one tiny detail.

I was the transportation.

And not just for Parker. For his friends, too.

Now, you might assume that when your teenager volunteers you to drive a group of kids somewhere, there’s been some sort of conversation beforehand.

Maybe a polite request.

Perhaps a discussion about timing.

You know, basic things.

Nope.

Apparently, I had been hired.

And the best part?

FIVE HOURS.

Five. Entire. Hours.

I dropped them off and then had to wait around so I could bring everyone home.

Do you know what you can accomplish in five hours?

You can clean your entire house. Do laundry. Grocery shop. Watch approximately half a season of a television show. Question every decision that led you to this moment.

Instead, I was on standby for a group of teenagers who were presumably having the time of their lives.

And the funny thing is, I know these days won’t last forever. Parker is getting older, becoming more independent, and spending more time with his friends.

I love that he has a life of his own.

I just didn’t realize his social calendar would come with a mandatory five-hour shift for me.

Five stars for the chauffeur.

Zero tips.

Management is considering retirement.

And Then There’s the Part I Don’t Really Talk About

As much as I can joke about work and motherhood, this week hasn’t been all that funny.

I’ve just felt…. blah.

Not necessarily because something terrible happened. Nothing dramatic. Nothing I can point to and say, That’s why.

I’ve gained a few pounds, and I haven’t been feeling particularly good about myself.

And before anyone says, “It’s only a few pounds,” I know.

Logically, I know.

But sometimes the way you see yourself has very little to do with what the scale actually says.

It’s about looking in the mirror and not feeling attractive. Trying on clothes and not liking how they fit. Comparing yourself to other women even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s about knowing you’re capable of so much and somehow still feeling like you’re not enough.

Which is a pretty shitty feeling, if I’m being truthful.

And I think what’s been bothering me even more is how quickly those feelings about my appearance turn into feelings about everything else.

Suddenly, I’m not just unhappy with how I look.

I’m questioning whether anyone will ever find me attractive enough. Whether I’ll ever meet someone who genuinely wants to build a life with me. Whether there’s actually a person out there for me at all.

And then I get annoyed with myself for thinking that way.

Because I’m 43 years old. I have a career I’m proud of. I’ve raised an incredible kid. I have a life I’ve worked hard to build.

Why does not having a relationship sometimes make me question my own worth?

I wish I had a good answer.

I don’t.

Apparently You Can Be Needed and Still Feel Lonely

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about.

My days are full of people who need something from me.

At work, there’s always a question, a problem, a deadline, or something that needs my attention.

At home, there’s a teenager who needs a ride, dogs who need taking care of, and approximately seventeen things that need to be done before I can finally sit down.

I’m busy.

I’m responsible.

I’m needed.

And yet, sometimes, I feel incredibly alone.

Not because I don’t have people in my life. I do.

But there’s a difference between being needed and feeling wanted.

There’s a difference between someone reaching out because they need you to do something and someone reaching out simply because they were thinking about you.

And there’s a difference between being perfectly capable of doing life on your own and actually wanting to do everything alone.

I think that’s the part people sometimes misunderstand about independent women.

Just because we can handle things doesn’t mean we never wish someone would take something off our plate.

Or ask how our day was.

Or make plans with us without us having to initiate them.

Or just be there.

Not becuase they need something.

Because they want to be.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling a little down lately.

I’m tired of being the person who figures everything out.

Sometimes I’d just like to be someone’s favorite person.

Not their emergency contact.

Not their problem solver.

Not their unpaid chauffeur.

Just their person.

So Apparently This Week Was Just One of Those Weeks

I wish I could tell you that I woke up this morning feeling completely different.

That I looked in the mirror and suddenly loved everything I saw. That I stopped worrying about finding love. That I found some magical way to stop letting other people’s lack of consideration get under my skin.

Unfortunately, no.

I’m still annoyed about deadlines.

I’m still questioning how I got volunteered for five hours of mall transportation.

And I’m still working through some feelings about myself that I’d really rather not have.

But I also know that not every week is going to be exciting or funny or full of stories worth telling.

Sometimes life is just work, responsibilities, insecurity, and wondering when things are going to feel a little easier.

And maybe that’s work talking about, too.

Because I have a feeling I’m not the only person who can spend an entire day being everything everyone else needs and then go home feeling like something is missing.

So that’s where I’m at this week.

No big revelation.

No inspirational quote.

No sudden transformation into a woman who has everything figured out.

Just me, trying to get through another week of adulthood without losing my mind.

And possibly putting together a formal transportation agreement for Parker.

Effective immediately, all mall trips require 48 hours’ notice, a confirmed return time, and financial compensation for emotional damages.

Because apparently I’m the adult.

But I am not a complimentary shuttle service.