Irresponsible

I'd like to say that I live in a swanky high rise apartment in San Francisco or Manhattan with a closet to rival Carrie's in Sex and the City, a super sexy little sports car, and a kick ass job writing for a high end magazine.
Hell, I'd even settle for a not as swanky apartment here in Utah with a regular walk in closet, any car and an internship writing for a not too important magazine.
At least that would be a start. But the reality is, I'm twenty one years old, living with my mom in a sun-room-re-built-to-be-Candace's-with-zero-insulation-making-it-freezing-cold-in-the-winter-and-sweltering-hot-at-this-time-of-year-room. With NO CLOSET. No car. And no job.
I had the sexy sports car, but totaled it last October and still haven't been able to replace it. Due to my lack of a job, which coincidentally reverts back to not having a car. How am I supposed to get to and from work without transportation? Let alone find a job in today's economy. So I'm stuck in this vicious cycle. The epitome of struggling student. Though school doesn't start again for another month and a half.

So I'm sitting at home debating whether to tackle the mound of clothing in my room that needs to be hung in my little brother's closet upstairs, or start painting. I'm leaning heavily towards painting. It's been a few years since I've pulled my paints out and I've been itching to dust them off and get to work.
I think my artistic side is going to win today's battle over responsibility. After all, I AM still living with my mother. A fact that a lot of people would consider a lack of responsibility on my part. So I might as well live up to it and spend the rest of the day irresponsibly creating a masterpiece.
I'll get my clothes under control tomorrow.