Adulting (a sonnet)

I thought that growing up would be a dream.
(It seemed that all the adults had such fun.)
I’d drive around and eat gourmet ice cream,
But now I’ve seen the truth. Can I be done?
Adulting means incessant filling forms,
Unclogging drains with plumbers still on hold,
Conforming to the boring fashion norms
Of suits and shoes instead of jammies old.
And half the time, it seems I stand in lines,
Or sign my name and calculate the fees.
And all the while my little kid just whines
And drops clean laundry where the puppy pees.
I want to trade my mortgage for a bike
And play outside with friends I actually like.