The novelty of being an adult hasn’t yet worn off.  

Adulthood;   hoods with more than 18 years of life experience that start  a new career in hooding,   or adulting,   or both.  

Novel adulty things include finding new bus routes,   getting on buses and paying the conductor then getting off the bus at (approximately) the right place,  at least, in the right city.  I can also drive a car (this is debatable), fall asleep at the symphony, pay for a meal in a restaurant.   I’ve got a credit card,   just the one because outbursts of scattiness might interfere with my balance balancing if I have too many different lists of money-leaving-me.  

I go to work everyday and hang out in an office with a window.   Note to European readers,   the US law doesn’t require office workers to have direct sunlight  in their place of work.   Some people here work in what looks strikingly like  a big  broom cupboard.   It’s  as if they are naughty children that have been told to go and sit in the cupboard under the stairs.   Luckily  my biddies (parents) didn’t use this  technique on me.   At least these  office workers  never fall out of their window.  

People ask me things,   as-if I might know a good answer.   Even better than that,   I quite often do know a reasonably good  answer,   or I can find out how to find out a good or better  answer.    If I’m feeling particulalrly  sneaky I change the question on the questioners behalf.  

No dead mice sharing my home or that of nearby friends, I can’t vouch for my friends homes further afield.   My parent’s visit me and I get to take care of them,   the role reversal borders on poignant.  In them I  see my ways of being,  their gifts to me, more clearly now.

I didn’t get any of this when I was a child.

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