Adulting is Just Managing Chaos: Ode to the Everyday Chaos of Being Grown [ADULTING RANT PART 1]

I thought I’d be flying, oh so free,
Instead, I’m a manager of “Why me?”
Morning alarms hit like a slap,
I’m just one more snooze from a total nap collapse.

Off to the kitchen, bold and brave,
Until I remember the milk I never saved.
Breakfast becomes a toast and jam fight,
Who knew eggshells at dawn were such a sight?

Grocery runs are planned with care,
But somehow chips and cookies sneak in there.
“Balance your diet!” they say on the net,
But ramen and takeout are all I get.

Laundry? It’s a game I’m meant to lose,
Colors with whites? Sure, it’s old news.
Shirts become tie-dye, socks vanish on cue,
Matching pairs? Not this lifetime, dude.

Ah, bills and budgets, the ultimate test,
Should I save, or splurge on a “treat yourself” fest?
Money slips through my fingers like sand,
But did you see the deals? Oh man, they’re grand!

Life is a circus, a hilarious ride,
Adulting’s a rollercoaster — nowhere to hide.
So, here’s to the chaos, let’s raise a glass high,
Surviving this mess? That’s no lie.

Welcome to adulthood, where you’re the overworked main character in a Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara-meets-The Matrix movie, except your “red pill” was that first utility bill. Remember when you thought “adulting” was just being cool and independent? Yeah, no one told us that “independence” meant spending Saturday nights scrubbing toilets, or that “freedom” included waiting on hold with customer service, listening to the same elevator music on loop like it’s the Titanic soundtrack.

In the Bollywood version of adulting, you’re that tragic hero in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham—except instead of grand parental drama, it’s you crying over your Wi-Fi bill that tripled for no reason. And where’s the backup chorus of friends singing Yeh Dosti when you’re lugging 10 grocery bags up the stairs because, of course, you forgot the milk again?

Let’s talk mornings. Mornings in the world of adulting are like an action scene from Mission Impossible. You’re Tom Cruise, sprinting to make coffee, dodge laundry, and escape the disastrous threat of being late. Every morning is Dhoom 3 on replay as you weave through the chaos, one shoe on, the other missing. And if, by some miracle, you actually find both shoes? It’s like winning the *Oscars* for Best Adult Performance.

Then there’s laundry, the ultimate villain in your superhero origin story. Your laundry basket is like Thanos in Avengers: Infinity War constantly threatening world domination no matter how many socks you sacrifice. And if you’re waiting to match all your socks? Honey, that’s a dream in La La Land. Those socks have probably eloped, left your closet, and started their own clothing line by now.

Finally, bills—The Godfather of adulting. They hit you like an emotional monologue in a Karan Johar movie. You open them slowly, heart pounding, like Simba seeing the stampede in The Lion King. One glance at the electricity bill and suddenly you’re doing mental math like an engineering student the night before exams. How is it that a *two-minute* shower costs as much as the full F.R.I.E.N.D.S box set? 

Remember when we were kids, excited to grow up and do whatever we wanted? Little did we know that “whatever we wanted” would include figuring out how to pay bills, maintain a plant (or five), and decide whether that noise the car made today was a $5 or a $500 problem. In the adulting world, everyone’s a project manager of personal chaos. Mornings are now mini-Olympics: the sprint from bed to coffee, the obstacle course around unwashed laundry, and the marathon search for the other sock. You feel accomplished if you manage to pay your phone bill before it’s cut off — a victory worthy of its own celebration

So here’s to all of us, starring in the longest, most chaotic, zero-plot movie ever: Adulting: The Sequel Nobody Wanted. And in this blockbuster of bills, broken washing machines, and unmatched socks, we are, as they say in Dangal, fighting “hamari chhoti chhoti chintaayein.” 

AUR  BHAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, Cheers to managing the mess, because life’s script didn’t come with a director’s cut.