I'm All Growns'd Up

So, many are probably expecting a tale of what has been coursing through my mind in such an event as turning 30. And while turning 30 certainly does make you think about a lot, the realization of my having "grown up" had nothing to do with the next click on my age-o-meter.

Something happened when my conscience went to San Diego. That is to say, my wife Sarah, went to San Diego. So, here I was in a familiar position of my conscience being away for days or a week at a time. My friends can vouch for me, any time my conscience has been away, disaster ensues (broken windows, trashed houses, drunks packed in boxes and left to be found by the police...I could go on.)

This time was different. Almost from the start. My conscience left on a Thursday morning. That Thursday evening I went to a pub with a friend of mine for a pint, then we went off to a prayer meeting in my neighborhood. The prayer meeting was closed. I went to bed.

This is when it gets eery*. What does a strapping 29-at-the-time young man do with a Friday night when his conscience is in San Diego. I'll tell you what a young man does (at least this young man), HE DOES HIS TAXES! Shitz. I did my taxes on a Friday night with no conscience in sight. Let me say this again just to allow it to sink in. I DID MY TAXES ON A FRIDAY NIGHT!

Saturday morning I wake up refreshed and ready to take in the day. Do I reach for the cereal box or instant oatmeal. Hell no. I'm doing oatmeal the old-fashioned way – on the stove top. I give it all the trimmings: Brown Sugar, raisins, dried blueberries and raspberries. I enjoy my concoction while reading the Indianapolis Star. Then I filled the pot with water to "soak" in order to shirk the responsibility of washing it until my conscience's plane was on the runway, right? No, I washed that pot til it shined. Weird, huh?

Weirder still is that I followed the pot washing by organizing my closet. By "organizing" I don't mean that I just picked up the huge pile of clothes and moved them to a less-conspicuous location. I categorized my clothes in the following categories: Jackets/Pullovers, Short-Sleeved Shirts (oxfords/button-ups), long-sleeved cotton shirts, long-sleeved button-ups, sport coats, suits, ties, and sports jerseys.

These short vignettes are just a microcosm of the week without my conscience. Those of you who read this and think "yeah, so" clearly don't know me well enough. I don't quite know what to make of the apparent change in me. I don't even know that I like it. But it is becoming apparent that I'm all growns'd up.

*-did you know "eery" can be spelled as I spelled it, or "eerie"...alternate spelling...interesting.