(Adjusts mic, looks around with a friendly smile)
Hey everyone! How we doing tonight? Good? Good. I’ve been trying to be more “present” lately. You know, put my phone away, look at the world. It’s terrifying. The world is in 4K with no filter. I saw a bird today and my first thought was, “This would be a great video for Instagram.” I’m trying to connect with nature and I’m mentally adding a Valencia filter to a sparrow. The sparrow looked at me like, “Buddy, just eat the breadcrumb and move on.”
I’m also trying to be more “adult.” I bought a succulent. That’s the gateway houseplant, right? It’s a plant for people who kill plants. The tag said, “Thrives on neglect.” I thought, “Perfect! A relationship I can’t mess up.” Two weeks later, it’s a crispy little stick. My friend said, “Did you water it?” I said, “The tag said neglect! I neglected it with passion! I gave it the silent treatment! I emotionally abandoned that plant!” Turns out, “thrive on neglect” means “occasionally remember it exists.”
The worst is socializing as an adult. It’s all so… scheduled. “Let’s circle back.” “Let’s put a pin in that.” I just want to say, “Can we just unpin and not circle back? Can we just have a thought, let it float away like a balloon, and never speak of it again?” My friend scheduled a “spontaneous hangout” for next Thursday. It’s in my calendar. Between “Dentist” and “Pay Electric Bill.” It has a subject line: “Fun (Mandatory).”
I went to a self-checkout recently. The machine said, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” I looked around. It was me. I’m the unexpected item. I’m the unexpected item in the entire area. My whole life is an unexpected item in the bagging area of society. The machine just kept yelling, “Please wait for assistance!” I’m like, “I’ve been waiting for assistance since 2008! Get in line, machine!”
But you know what’s the peak of adult confusion? Thermostats. I live with my partner. It’s a silent war. A cold war, literally. I set it to 70. I leave. I come back, it’s set to 68. A number I have never once chosen. Who chooses 68? That’s not a temperature, that’s a passive-aggressive statement. I change it back. We don’t talk about it. It’s our little secret. Our icy, resentful secret. I think the thermostat is just messing with us. One day I’ll come home and it’ll just read, “Fine. 72. Are you happy now? You’ve broken me.”
Anyway, that’s my time! You’ve been a wonderful audience. Please remember to tip your waitstaff, and for the love of god, water your succulents. Goodnight!
(Waves, exits)
