It’s the dark side of Madulthood. The incessant struggle, the realization that all our stuff is in a state of decay. Clothes have holes, electronics malfunction, everything is cracked or scratched or dented.
The dark side of Madulthood.The constant application, to jobs, schools, programs. The condition of being so employable, yet not employed. “Applying, not crying,” as Tara says.
The dark side. The sink that is always full of dirty dishes, a scientific anomaly. I wash dishes for twenty minutes, and twenty minutes after that they’re grease-licked in the sink again. The check engine light on Madison’s stalwart T100 dashboard, fixed there for weeks, something unfixed, the light at the end of the tunnel that’s definitely a train.
MadRim Productions is in crisis mode. Within hours of each other, both our computers committed suicide. Madison woke up to a death screen, her computer wouldn’t start at all. My fan hyperventilated as I tried to research future homes in Breckenridge, and now I’ll be homeless. It’s madultery, when Madulthood screws you over.
It’s so absurd it’s okay. We’re nothing if not resourceful. Like our subjects in the maker movement, Madison and I are solving our own problems. Our computers are old, and they’ve been schlepped a few places, so it’s about time. We’re not surprised. We reflect that there’s too much waste and inefficiency in the world; all our gear needs repairing or replacing. Almost everything is busted in one way or another but still functioning, for now. The dark side of Madutlhood is realizing your parents will no longer replace the critical objects you need for survival. In fact, they haven’t done so in a while, but you’re only now noticing because things fall apart, that’s some literary gospel right there. You’re on your own, squirt.
We’re determined to stop sulking. So what if all our objects are falling apart? Projects, not objects! Trails, not trials! Break computer, fix computer, get new computer. Cycle of life. Good thing we recently became acquainted with the Colorado maker community, a collection of highly intelligent champions for technology.
One existential quarter life crisis at a time, please. I’m not normally so elegiac, but when I am, I write poetry, and it’s heavy-handed.
For Those Who Wander & Are Lost
The uncertain is familiar,
The unfamiliar is certain.
My computer broke; and I’m broke.
Dishes dirty, clothes unclean.
Times are lean, streets mean.
Banner unfurled, trip round the world.
Truth or dare:
Figure it out when I get there.