Growing Up MadCow Style

I am thirty years old and … wait thirty one. I. am. Thirty. One. 3 1. I forget sometimes. I’m really not that freaked about my age, except when I realize that at thirty one I am unemployed and I have to call my therapist by 1pm tomorrow to tell her whether or not I have done anything related to the list we made in our session tonight. At thirty-one I have to check-in with someone I pay because I obviously have not mastered the art of discipline. How did I get here?

The unemployed part I understand… I went to work one day, was called into the office of a VP who also, for some reason, happened to be sitting next to the HR VP with a white folder between the two of them on the table, and was told “we overshot our margins for the 1st half of the year and we’re not going make them in the 2nd. Everyone is being asked to cut corners and in our business its between overhead and generating claims and since we can’t generate more claims, we gotta cut overhead.” Luckily, in comparison to other departments, I had two weeks to clean up and bid farewell to 4 years of what amounted to piles and files of crap and a lot of meaningless meetings, emails, hours spent on something my heart was never that into in the first place. So, being unemployed at 31 doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s a blessing (more on that to come) one of which I intend to take full advantage.

But the having to answer to a therapist tomorrow by 1pm is just messed up. I’m thirty one!! An adult! I have… um let’s see I have a car. OK, mom and dad gave that to me for a graduation present. I live in a 2-bed 2 bath apartment with my boyfriend, who had to pay for my rent last month because my severance checks hadn’t started. I’m able to pay for cobra, that’s gotta be something “adultish,” right? Am I really just an overgrown teenager? That can’t be right… I actually had a job when I was a teenager, one that afforded me gas for my other bought-by-my-parents car and late night snacks at the Land & Sleaze Diner. I can barely afford my Starbucks frappuccino in the new 12 oz bottle from 7-11 without scrounging for change. This is certainly not the life I had envisioned, but it’s what I have. And it can be changed, right?

Guess it starts with waking up tomorrow, spending some time doing some of the things I said I was going to do, then calling my therapist at 1pm to tell her I’ve done them; or at least started. I mean come on; let’s be reasonable, I am only thirty one!