I officially entered the stages of adulthood yesterday by separating my colors from my whites while doing laundry. Normally, I just chuck them all in together. I don’t even bother with the temperature or those annoying washing instructions that I cut off from my tee shirts. Never have I had a problem with shrinking or seeping colors, either.

For years I have been convinced people around me were lying about this bleeding colors thing, surely everyone was set on adding more time and hassle to chores to keep us women domesticated and stuck at home. But it sounded too ridiculous to believe, at the age of 22, that separating laundry was some clandestine sexist conspiracy, so I gave up my defiant ways and decided I should do my laundry like an adult.

My laundry isn’t the only adultish thing I’ve been adapting to lately. My mother is pleased to know after graduation I’ve committed to a ‘real job.’ What she’s not so pleased with is that it’s located in Warsaw and requires a lot of traveling. I could think of worse things..

In the coming months, I’ll be searching for a flat, which means I won’t be a nomad living out of my one duffle bag hopping from people’s couches or the occasional airconditionless beach house. Even more drastic for me, is the notes I now keep with various paint colors for my future place. I’m debating between Nimbus Grey or Apricot for the bathroom.

It’s all pretty exciting actually. I’ll have a flat- my own space filled with real art, travel memorabilia, bookshelves, Polish pottery and properly washed laundry hung up next to a fern I’m set on naming Angie.

I know myself and my hunger well enough to know these plans are subject to change depending on the day, the weather, and the country of the man I fall in love with this time around. But making these plans constitute as a step towards adulthood.

Cheers to growing up, or at least the paint colors and proper laundry suggest I’m doing so.



Art courtesy off Beth Hoeckel


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