Oh...it's been on my brain. But maybe not in the way you might suppose.
I have been hearing really great things about this book. Written by the same girl (gurl, lady, woman?) who wrote Juno, the fabulously fierce and unapologetic movie about all things teen wrote a memoirish book-- about her foray into the world of strippers and the sex world-- that is causing a stir. It sounds just racy enough to make me giggle, but not blush. And I like walking that line.
Along similar lines, I have been thinking about moving out. And part of the reason, as a wiser and older woman put it to me just a few days ago, is because living with your parents when you're nearly 24 is just not conducive to...life.
I went and looked at an apartment that the leasing agent clearly did not want to rent to me. Not because of me, but because of who my prospective neighbors would be. I was obviously too much of an upstanding citizen to rent from such a property. I'm in such a pickle. On the one hand, it would be so prudent to live at "home" (whatever that means anymore. I'm not sure I even know.) I could save money and then, by the time I leave for wherever fate takes me next year, mind you I will be officially in my mid-twenties by that time, I will be in a much better position to afford whatever it is that fate might choose. Right?
Except here's the thing: I don't want to be prudent. Or responsible. Or anything that remotely resembles adulthood. I want to be carefree and irresponsible. In all honesty, I want to be able to go out drinking, and not have my mom stay up making sure I get home safe. I want to be able to do my laundry. Or not. And not be reminded that the pants I'm wearing haven't been washed for two weeks. I want to be able to be go and do and see. And call home like most other people.
I realize that so much of what my parents do are out of love, and not anything more malicious.
But I want to be 23. And live like I'm twenty three. No younger no older. A lover, a sinner.
How selfish is this?