Note: This was originally published on wacie.com on March 24, 2013.

I am not an adult.

I fear I may never be.

My boyfriend moved out in November to take a year-long contract job in Atlanta. Since then, I have lived alone. It has been an illuminating experience, one I enjoyed at first: having the bed to myself, playing air drums without having anyone walk in on me, washing fewer dishes. I suddenly had more freedom than I’d ever had before. As time went by, though, I started missing small things about having another person around. The bed is always cold. Cooking for one person is depressing. The cats don’t laugh at my jokes. One of the cats actually went crazy and spent three months avoiding me in the backyard.

Since November, I’ve walked everywhere I go. It’s a fifteen minute walk to Dollar General from my house. There’s a convenience store five minutes away, but I’m certain half of the stuff in there has been there since they opened it. There’s a pack of diapers in there that looks like it’s been on that shelf since I wore diapers. Right, so fifteen minute walk to Dollar General. Since my budget is extremely tight now, I try not to spend more than ten dollars, and if the handbasket gets full, I have to stop, because I’ve probably got more than I can carry home. Typically, I’ve got a bag of cat food, cheap toilet paper, and ramen noodles. If I’m able, I’ll splurge on Milk Duds and a bottle or two of nail polish as a reward for walking my ass to the store. As a result of all this walking and a diet that’s not much more than caffeine and noodles, I’ve lost forty pounds. My favorite yoga pants don’t fit anymore.

I’ve done my best to keep myself busy, but it’s been a dull existence so far. I wake up, have breakfast and tea, put on some music and lay around the living room until two o’clock or so, when I start chores or do schoolwork. If I have time, I read or work on my embroidery project. I have lunch at some point, dinner at some point, then I spend the rest of the night writing. I thought that if I stay busy for the next year, I’ll stay sane.

Over the past few months, I’ve begun to feel like things are slipping out of my control. The sink in the laundry room got clogged somehow; I found this out when it overflowed the last time I tried to do laundry. I can’t unclog it. I’ve never had to unclog a sink in my life. I don’t even know how the plunger works. Because of this, laundry is piling up around my room and I have no way to take care of it. The grass is starting to get tall and I can’t mow the lawn because the shed is locked and I don’t have the key. I have all of these stupid idiot problems that could easily be solved by someone other than me.

Last night, there was this loud droning sound coming from the backyard. When I went to check it out, I notice there are frogs in and around the pool. It was like a scene from The Bible, whatever scene it is where somebody lets their pool go to hell and God sends a plague of frogs to embarrass them and annoy their neighbors. That happened, right? So there I am, it’s midnight, it’s still warm out, the moon is full and casts a pale light onto the water, giving me just enough to be able to see them swimming around. I get the pool net down and start scooping them out, emptying the net over the side of the fence. After two or three nets full of frog and leaves, I realize that I’m dumping them out right under my bedroom window. I don’t know how many I pulled out, or how long I was out there, but I was out there for quite a while. Despite my efforts, though, the noise didn’t stop. It was still coming from the pool, but it was also right under my window. I’d had a headache all day, so I went to bed early, and laid still and alert for half an hour, listening to the croaking before I gave up and slept on the couch in another room, where instead I listened to the neighborhood cats yowl and hiss at each other.

How in the world do I think I’m going to make it through the rest of the year? I clearly lack the skills necessary to keep my life from falling apart, that’s why my boyfriend moved out and I pay for cat food with change. I feel like I’m riding in a car with four flat tires. I could drive on it for a while, but sooner or later, it’s going to give out, and I’m going to be completely screwed.

Note: This was originally posted on wacie.com on March 24, 2013.