I swear I'm trying to be an adult, I'm just not very good at it.

The lane of cement stretches forever between towering shelves of home appliances and fixtures; thousands upon thousands of pounds of material and hardware for whatever jobs need doing. I only get a few feet down the aisle before it all comes crashing down on top of me.

Well, figuratively.

Despite the overwhelming amount of mass stacked high above customers’ heads, my mind is strangely soothed while walking through any home improvement super center such as Lowe’s or Home Depot. Traveling through the different departments one time, I began to notice an overpowering theme to my daydreams, as if each display I passed projected a ghostly vision of the future straight into my brain. From monolithic laundry machines to Pac-man-mouthed barbecues, I saw a life--with a wife, maybe a baby on the way, always a dog--that mine had the potential to become. A contentedly suburban existence.

It seems harsh to call these images hallucinations, but I just can’t shake the feeling that they were produced by something other than my own imagination. Somewhere a tiny network of gremlins was working to spread prophecies of Everyday Low Prices in the time it took customers to wander a few aisles: analysts peer down from the upper shelves and print out graphs to be glanced at by the marketing team arguing in the rafters about directions the company should be going, and the writers hunch over laptops behind the garden department (it’s the only place they’re allowed to smoke), punching out scripts for the directors whose crews rig the sets in human imaginations using the latest in ethereal production technology. Academy Awards are held weekly in a tub on exhibit in the bath department.

Once I started to realize how much I was dwelling on such a happy, ordinary future, I was immediately unsoothed and set my sights on the exit. Maybe the reason these stores feel so venomous to me is the way they seem to be trying to coax me into settling down; I was trapped in some web where a spider’s bite was liquefying my dreams of travel and worldly experience. Maybe I’m just not old enough to appreciate the convenience of these places.

I’m no homemaker. My girlfriend wonders how I live the way I do: sharing a drafty apartment with three other college-age dudes. The bathroom’s tub, toilet and sink are smeared with grime and the roving puddle on the floor could’ve escaped from any one of them. Our landlord was more than a little incredulous when we told him Ricky wasn’t drunk when he pushed the hole through the shower wall, which is absolutely true: the rot holding up the pink tile squares just wasn’t strong enough for him to put his hand against while he scrubbed his foot. Pretending a couple of living room windows are instead dramatic photos of arcing lightning is easy, with their cracks that race up the panes, but you have to peek between the strips of duct tape. The microwave looks like a violent crime scene and the stove top smokes, charring the remains of whatever was spilled on it and not cleaned up. Walking around without shoes is never a recommendation, unless you’re in my room, where I made it a rule.

I wonder the same thing my girlfriend does as I dig into the mountain of dirty dishes with a soap-logged sponge, but not for too long. Before moving into this place we signed a piece of paper saying we’d give it back on Graduation Day, and since this time around it really would be graduation day for us, we’re planning on not wanting the apartment back. No matter how many times we say to each other “Let’s go home” after a night out, we still only feel like we’re referencing where the rest of our stuff and beds happen to be. A real home wouldn’t feel so temporary.

Someday I’ll be happy to drool all over power tools. I’m going to be so ready to feign disinterest when the ol’ lady and I are browsing around for a new kitchen (why the hell wouldn’t I want a dishwasher?). A family to raise, that’s why I would have nice things. The members of the odd, loud, frequently gross family I’m a part of now all have jobs so they can provide for themselves; when I finally feel like I’m mature enough to contribute to a real home, I won’t hesitate to sign up for whatever credit cards necessary to get the best deals on whatever it is that can make that happen.