As we grow older, we accumulate more and more responsibilities, and essentially, that’s what growing up is -- being expected to mature, attain more knowledge, and do more on your own. You start off easy, with your parents assigning you a chore to help out around the house. You learn to do things for yourself as opposed to your parents doing it for you, or perhaps you learn how to take care of a pet or others in your family. Soon, you aren’t just doing your fair share, but you’re pulling your own weight -- all of it.

You spend your entire life saying “When I grow up…” with excitement gleaming in your eye, with hope and wonderment for independence in the distant future giving you butterflies. It seems like forever before you move off to college and you’re on your own. Yet, here I am and it has hit me like a semi-truck doing 65 in a 25 MPH zone.

It comes to a point where you’re shoveling laundry into the dryer while your dinner is boiling over in the kitchen and you’re wondering when in the world you’re going to find the money or the time to go grocery shopping in between class and work the next day.

I’m a full-time student, working almost full-time between two jobs. Registering for classes and picking up shifts at work can be a headache, but it’s child’s play compared to all the fun new adult things you get to do as a college student.

First of all, what is up with all the documents? You need to sign this paper for your major, keep this paper in your car, and hold on to these eight different forms of identification. I don’t know what happened in the transition from my mother’s responsibility to my own, but I’ve already had to get a new Social Security card, and my birth certificate is M.I.A. Now that I’ve lost and found my passport countless times, it needs to be renewed -- oh but wait, I filled out the wrong form. I’ve found that half of growing up is receiving, updating, renewing and not losing hundreds of important pieces of paper.

Do not even get me started about going to the doctor… between the parking validation and guessing your family history, I have figured out the best way to deal with any of my medical issues is to just avoid visiting hospital and hoping I don’t die.

Taxes. What are they? And how do you do them? What does it all mean?

The number of times I have walked into Chase bank and just said, “Help...” The limit does not exist. And returning to the issue of documentation, I found that my bank account has had me listed under the wrong Social Security number for six years.

My biggest worry about becoming an adult used to be time management, but now I am finding myself in a state of panic wondering about so much more. How do I write a check? What kind of postage do I need for this size box? Should I get a credit card? And once again, how the hell do you do taxes?

The bigger question is, why is there not an Adult 101 class to walk you through all of this? Though they continually push me closer and closer to edge of the cliff that’s drop is my fall into truly terrifying adulthood, my parents are still there to help me when I need it. Yet I still feel like I could use someone or something to hold my hand along the way. I’m not ready to look at how much I have saved for my retirement. Grocery shopping isn’t as fun when I’m not trying to stealthily slip a bag of hot Cheetos in the basket without my mom noticing -- now I’m just throwing them in, feeling guilty that I’m not making healthier choices, and wondering if it will catch up to me when I have to finally give in and brave the doctor’s office.

So I would love to thank high school for teaching me everything about how the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and nothing about participating in adult society. Peace out, childhood, it is time for agonizing lines at the DMV and my imminent death.