This will probably sound like a no-brainer to most people, but I was completely taken by surprise recently when my tastes seem to have changed so dramatically and without warning. Shocker: 33-year-old Katie is completely uninterested in keeping relics produced by 23-year-old Katie. And now I’m surrounded by previously-cherished items that I suddenly Cannot. Get rid of. Fast enough.

I created a painting in college that has a bright pink background, and there are colorful candies scattered across the canvas. Towards the bottom of the painting is a big cigarette. Uh wha? Yeah, so this thing is sitting in my living room. And all of a sudden, I went from being proud of this thing (the painting looks like a photograph! I’m so talented!) to utter disgust. (Why is there something so hideous gracing our living room, and how soon can I get rid of it?)

This is coming on the heels of wanting to divest myself of my giant black and white photo that I’m falling more and more out of love with every moment that it sits on the floor as it leans against the back of the couch, waiting for someone to adopt it.

I also have a box of snapshots from college and a few years after that illustrate The Imbecile Years that were dedicated to partying and thinking I was cool. This used to be a box of fun memories to rummage though. But it is currently serving as a Box of Embarrassment Waiting to Happen, and I’ve decided it’s time to burn the evidence.

I never thought I would want to run out and buy a shredder and set up a proper filing cabinet and … just get my crap together. (Not that I've done this yet, but it's on my list.) This adulthood thing has just sprung up out of no where, although I know that isn’t true. I guess over the past year or so, the maturity has crept up on me, like a silent killer of any last trace of irresponsibility left in my veins.

The funny thing is, I feel kind of giddy about it.

(And while I’m busy bragging about how adult I am, um, please ignore this weekend’s post about the waffles. Thanks.)