- filling out tax forms- this should be easy, but I feel like whoever designed the W4 or W2 made it complicated on purpose, probably out of fear of job security. He/she wanted to make it look like you can't just hire anyone to design a tax form, even though I'm pretty sure you can.
- paying taxes.
- "having it all together"- I find that as I get older, I am more responsible for myself, which usually means I have to be better at making up excuses for why I didn't do something I was supposed to, like completing my time sheets.
- being responsible for current affairs- I would be lying if I told you I got my news from sources other than Comedy Central or SNL's Weekend Update. Not only do certain adults shame me for not being up to the minute, there are a fair number of hipsters at school who enjoy feeling superior because they catch CNN as they are rolling up their blue jeans every morning.
- going to the doctor alone- a doctor's office is twice as scary when you are alone. This is a fact. This also brings me to my story:
It all started when I woke up this morning, and participated in my daily routine: pee, wash face, brush teeth, contacts. Not very complicated. However, I realized a little too late that I should have saved my urine for the cup at the clinic. Crap.
I decided to stop by Dunkin Donuts to get an iced coffee, accessing the knowledge stored away from volleyball camp that caffeine is a diuretic, and would therefore fill my bladder and render it ready for bursting. I bought the drink (and some donuts, because, really how could I go to DD and pass up donuts? it's practically a sin) and meandered over to the used book store. I sold a few books, bought a Bill Bryson and a book-club read, and continued to gulp down my beverage as heartily as I could without procuring a brain freeze. I sat in my car, rolled the windows down, and cracked open the book. I waited patiently for the coffee to settle into my bladder and waited for the alarm-bells to start. Except, after chugging at least half of it, waiting patiently is not a valid option.
My attention started to wander, my hands started shaking, and I realized quickly, that in my attempt to pass a drug test I may have OD'd on caffeine. Smart, Claire. My gaze darted around like a squirrel and my anxiety-prone mind began to worry that I would show up at the clinic twitching and they would check the "Deranged! NOT suggested for hire" box as soon as I walked in.
They didn't of course. I passed my drug test, and actually had a bit too much :ahem: material for the plastic cup. Now I just have to wait for my hands to stop shaking. It's been three hours. How much longer could it take?