I’m not sure about you guys, but many of my school years were spent wishing I was an adult. Adulthood seemed to be so full of freedom, of being able to listen to the music of my choice at the volume of my choosing, I couldn’t wait to experience it. And though I don't have a lot to complain about when it comes to my childhood (except the fact that I never did get to meet a single member of New Kids On The Block), being an adult always seemed so appealing.
Flash forward a couple decades and I’ll admit, adulthood is pretty sweet. I mean, it’s super hard too, don’t get me wrong (hello, responsibilities), but I can at least drink coffee whenever I want, wear whatever I want, and indeed play my music at a volume of my choosing (as long as my son isn’t sleeping...or my husband isn’t trying to work...or I’m not driving through a residential area at night, because I’m not a total jerk). However, I’ve noticed that there is one part of adulthood that doesn’t quite come with the same level of maturity as the rest: work. Allow me to explain: