C is for Cookie

I mentioned in an earlier post that my walls are bare and psychiatric-ward like. They still are, though I have a host of wall hangings leaning against my walls.

I dress like this when I’m feeling handy.

It’s a revelation for me. These walls are mine — especially the four that make up my bedroom — and for the first time I will not be disciplined for putting holes in them. My dad isn’t here to make fun of the way I hang wall fixtures (thumb tacs had, until recently, been my preferred method of decorating); he also doesn’t have to cover the holes I put into his house.  I don’t have a persnicketty RA making sure I don’t ruin the white washed walls of a college dorm room. And my old Italian(?) land lord loves us so much I’m convinced he thinks we can do no wrong. In short, I’m learning how to use a power drill and I think I’m in love.

The idea of spackling my own blunders gives me a definitive sense of ownership. I like this. I am a fan of this do-it-yourself, solo-trips-to-Home Depot-existence. I am empowered by this and other oddities that would typically be taken for granted.

The simple act of filling a glass jar with Nilla Wafers is special. Not because I can now easily grab a delicious cookie to pair with my strawberry ice-cream, but because the jar itself is a symbol of my adulthood.

(All of a sudden, this silly post reminds me of a hastily written college essay: “I need a metaphor NOW….That’ll work.”)

When you find yourself owning both a box of cookies and a cookie jar in which to place those cookies, you have, I believe, reached a point of maturity that surpasses paying bills, cleaning your toilet, and commuting to work.

Essentially, the cookie jar is just the start of more grown-up opportunities to come. For example, I recently filled another jar with a combination of wrapped Kit Kat andReeses Peanut Butter Cups. This weekend, I will be hanging the shelves, and next week, who knows.

I’ll be the first to tell you, once you’re an adult the possibilities are endless, really.

(I’ll let you know if I get around to vacuuming — Let’s not get carried away.)

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