95% of adulthood is just being confused about how we got here.

Time wise:
“How is it basically September already?”
Life wise:
“How am I 25?” “How the fuck is that kid I saw born 13?”
Society wise:
“How is that asshole president?”

The other 5% is drinking, sleeping, and complaining about needing to do more of both of those things

sailorbryant:

a-fragile-sort-of-anarchy:

Bad News: Our boss locked the keys inside the building.

Good News: We didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith.

Bad News: My boss finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory™. I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute girls.

Good News: A cute girl saw me do it.

Bad News: It was Maggie, and since she’s already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, she’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. She knows.

There are million dollar blockbuster movies that were less entertaining than the rollercoaster this post just took me on.