Adulting.

I think I’m slowly turning into the Grinch.

It seems as if I’m navigating my twenties as the grumpy green guy who lives on Mount Crumpit, finding more and more comparisons with him, which makes me start to wonder: is this is what adulthood is supposed to be like?

Below are some examples:

Having nothing to wear when I own two closets: “That’s it, I’m not going.”

Eating because there’s nothing better to do with my time: “Am I just eating because I’m bored? *chomp chomp chomp.”

Judging everyone around me: “Hate, hate, hate, double hate… LOATHE ENTIRELY.”

When I’ve spent way too much time at home with my cat: “I guess I could use a little social interaction.”

I know I’m not actually turning into the Grinch, but it got me wondering if I have at last become a big bad adult.

But what exactly constitutes being an adult? What pivotal moment brings young people like myself into the world of grown ups?

Is it having sex? Moving out? Graduating college? Getting married? Having a baby? Having babies? Buying a house? Paying for your own bills? Taking responsibility for your life?

Perhaps, like me, you believe being an adult isn’t defined by one singular moment, but a period of time, a process filled with growth where you go from being reliant to self-sufficient.

I’m about to take on a major responsibility, one that was mentioned above, and it’s requiring me to pull up my big girl panties and “become an adult.” I can’t tell you what it is yet, but it’s the biggest investment I’ve made in myself and my future, and it’s bringing me many moments of pause, where I reflect and take in the big changes I’m about to go through, “as an adult.”

I know being an adult has this bad connotation, like you turn soulless and boring as you prepare to follow the supposedly mundane steps of your next years, but I’m finding it extremely thrilling and exciting.

Even though there are moments in which I miss daily naps and not having to worry about spending all my tip money on groceries, it feels good to finally take control of my life and be on my own.

I’m taking steps forward, I’m growing in unimaginable ways, and despite feeling like the Grinch sometimes, I’m interpreting adulthood as it applies to me, defining what being a grown up means in my own way.

And yes, that still involves dressing like a pink Barbie doll in a flamingo top because while I believe in growing up, I don’t believe in growing old.

Sashimi & Style.

A few words of advice for anyone wanting to eat salmon sashimi in the future:

Don’t eat it fresh.

Our story today starts with a very unfortunate case of food poisoning, contracted by consuming a hefty amount of raw salmon that had been caught two days previous.

Trusting my dad, we all gobbled up the fine fillets, regretting it later as our bodies began the process of rejecting the salmon that was now making us ill.

Food poisoning is not fun, and it took its toll on us. My dad and I got the brunt of it, having eaten the majority and we spent most of the weekend at home clutching our aching tummies.

That being said, I had a lot of spare time on my hands, most of which was taken up with binging How to Get Away With Murder.

Late on the bandwagon, I was hooked from the beginning and somehow plowed through three seasons in my sickly state, forever surprised at the plot twist of events, all the while admiring the plethora of fabulous outfits Annalise Keating rocked whenever she appeared on screen.

In my piddly pajamas, I was taken back to a time when I too, used to dress like this bomb ass lawyer.

Sure, I wasn’t defending and prosecuting murder cases, but I used to work and study a profession that warranted occasions to wear outfits that stood out and made me feel like my own bomb ass woman.

In my current chapter, I’m required to wear a denim shirt for work, which is great when it comes to representing a Rosie the Riveter type vibe, but it limits me from dipping into the closets of clothing (yes, I have two closets) that take up my room and are a big part of my self-expression.

My delicacies collect dust, my racks become rusty, and it bothers me that I’m unable to wake up every morning and dress for the day like I’m taking on a new client as Annalise.

I know though, deep down, that I will once again be able to express myself through my style and that it will become a part of my daily routine. It may not be this year, or the next, but the power of clothing is strong and I know it will remain a part of my journey.

It’s just sometimes, that journey requires me to wear a denim work shirt when all I want to do is wear a silk dress.

So there is a silver lining to our unfortunate consumption of improperly processed salmon: it reignited my passion for dressing up.

Because I was laid up with sick salmon stomach, I was forced to take the time to lie low, and as a result, I discovered a new kick ass tv series that reminded me of the power of style.

And by Sunday brunch, I was well enough to join the land of the living, having finally overcome the unfortunate sickness and making the best of my circumstances in the process.

See, I believe that even through bouts of food poisoning, any “fin” good can still come out of something bad.