My sister and I sometimes jokingly/ seriously refer to weekly tasks as “______ adult chores”. The blank has been filled with words such as: lame, boring, monotonous, dumb, stupid, necessary, awful. Those adult chores include laundry, cleaning the house, dropping off dry cleaning, putting gas in the car, going to the bank. Life items that make our days tick, our weeks smoother and add order to what could otherwise be chaos.

On a night like tonight, I can't help but to feel full of gladness and goodwill to be an adult. I ate an entire bag of sweet potato chips for dinner, alongside a big bowl full of guacamole. I took the garbage out in my cut off sweatpants and sports bra. I am baking a big, fat, delicious bowl of apple crisp which I am going to eat as soon as I am finished drinking my beer and writing this post. I am then going to eat dessert in bed, while leafing through the Babycakes NYC cookbooks my friend Lindsay lent me.

It occurs to me that I often think of myself as 16, 18, or 10 in my head. Every now and then when I make a string of choices that defy the usual I can't help but to feel a little bit triumphant, a little bit defiant, and awesome a hundred times over.