I graduated college a few years ago. Since that time, I’ve moved out of my parents’ house, gotten my Master’s degree, and started a full-time job. From the outside looking in, it looks like I (sort of) have my shit together and that I’m a responsible, mature adult. From the inside looking out, it’s a different story. To prove my point, I present you with four things which prove that I’m not quite a real adult. Yet.

I Still Can’t Cook

Adults can cook for themselves. They can decide on their drive home from work that they want to have a casserole for dinner, and then they get home and make it. They stick it in the oven and patiently wait for it to bake. Then, they even more patiently wait for it to cool before they start shoving it in their mouths. I don’t have this power. In fact, last night for dinner I made Kraft macaroni and cheese with hot dogs in it and considered that a successful meal. Most nights, I throw in a Totino’s personal pizza before my oven preheats and then burn the roof of my mouth by eating it the second it comes out. Adults also make a point to pack their lunches before they leave for work so that they can avoid leaving the office and spending money on their noontime meal. Not me – I snooze until the last possible second and then rush to throw clothes on and brush my teeth before I walk out the door. Packing a lunch would take too much time. As a result, I’ve already spent $56.12 on food this week. It’s only Thursday.

I Lack Domestic Skills

Adults wash and dry their laundry in a timely manner, and then they fold their clothes and put them away. If that wasn’t enough, they also wake up early and iron their clothes before they go to work. I do laundry once a week at best, and yesterday I bought a new pair of dress pants so that I could avoid the washing machine for one more day. Even when I force myself to do my laundry, I sometimes put the first load in the washer and forget about it for a few days. I once ruined an entire load of whites because I left them in the washer for a week and they got moldy. When I actually remember to dry them, folding and ironing is out of the question. I use my hair straightener if there are too many wrinkles in my shirt.

I’m Fiscally Irresponsible

Adults take care of their belongings, and work to pay back their loans in a timely fashion. And while I consider myself an adult because I pay for my car insurance and my student loans, this isn’t saying much. For example, my lovely car has been leaking oil for two months and I’m still refusing to open the hood to check on it. I’m afraid of what might be wrong, and in my opinion, no news is good news. If this wasn’t a clue to my maturity level, I’ll give you another example. I currently have about $50k in outstanding loans, and I’ve been lucky enough to save up the money needed to pay back one of the loans, effectively cutting my debt by a third. Adults would think that this was a financially savvy decision and would applaud me for doing this, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I’m too afraid of running out of spending money, so instead I keep my money in my checking account so that I don’t overdraft on any given Friday night. Interest be damned. And you know how adults care about their retirement plans? Well, I’m mostly just pissed off that I have one and that my employer makes me put 6.4% of my measly salary toward it. I NEED that money, and not in fifty years. I need it now.

I’m Worthless At My Job

Adults spend the eight hours at their places of employment doing things. They not only look busy – they are busy. But not me. I spend the majority of the time they are paying for me getting into immature arguments, most of which are with strangers on this website. When I’m not throwing a hissy fit about some rude comment, I’m surfing Twitter for my daily news information. Most adults watch CNN in the morning and listen to talk radio during their drive. But not me – all my news comes in 140-character format and I only click on the link if it looks interesting. I do all this while sitting in my desk chair Indian-style with my shoes on the floor. The other day my boss lectured me for this, saying that it looked “unprofessional” and I cried. Real tears. In front of her. Real adults don’t cry in front of their bosses. She also lectured me because even when I try to stop it, the word “fuck” still comes out of my mouth on a regular basis. Apparently, adults aren’t supposed to curse when Microsoft Excel deletes an entire spreadsheet. Who knew?

Moral of the story? I’m like a lot of other postgrads – no longer a child, not quite yet an adult.