a run-through of a typical day no one asked for
A few days ago I woke up to my 7:15 alarm and rolled over. I set another one for 7:45, thinking this extra 30 minutes would, I don’t know, do something. When that one went off, my arm didn’t work. You might think I mean Ugh I was so tired my arm didn’t want to move. But no, my arm literally would not move. I lifted it up and my hand went limp and numb. I managed to convince myself that I was having a stroke for fifteen seconds, but I eventually settled into the reality that I just fell asleep on my arm. Fine, I guess I’ll use my other hand to turn off the alarm.
Most days now, I wake up and lay completely still for five to ten minutes, debating between a morning of inside air and homework or a morning of outside air and still homework. I consistently feel better every single time I venture outside before work, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to debate it. I’ve been running more often, which means I’ve gone on more than one run this semester, and I can almost never bring myself to do it any time other than the morning (credit where credit is due to my cool roommate for opening my eyes to the exercise as not always a torture fest). And I’ve established myself as strictly anti-gym, or at least anti this gym, as it’s a windowless room with yellow lighting and an overpowering sense of dread, and also the pool is filled with old men who can’t stop commenting on how “fast” I am but won’t let me pass them when I’m slapping their toes. So between that and the fact that I was sore for six days after one workout class, I’m left with running and walking as sources for endorphins, a much needed currency in NYC. 95% of the reason I’ve been running may be because I’m obsessed with my Hoka shoes and can’t stop telling my mom how it feels like a trampoline on my foot, but they’re pink and so cute!!
Anyway, if I elect to go outside, I’m either running or walking and both of those options mean I can plug my earbuds in (I’m going to continue pretending that I am the one choosing not to have AirPods and it’s not because my dad thinks I’ll loose them) and dramatize my life tenfold with excessively emotional music. Lorde, if you’re out there, just know I pretend to live a completely different life than my reality because of you.
After thirty to forty-five minutes of pretending everyone I pass either wishes they were me or absolutely hates me, I return to my half-dorm-half-cultural-center home and my life as an ~intern~. I shower (felt like I needed to point this out? idk) and make either an egg on toast or a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. There’s no in between. Don’t be surprised when I have excellent cholesterol in ten years because of the many pounds of Honey Nut Cheerios I eat a week.
Throughout the day I’m writing or uploading stories to the CMS (yay! no, actually yay because for some reason this is my absolute favorite thing to do). We write for really wealthy people and it’s definitely quite the eye-opener to their world. Yesterday I was looking at homes for sale to feature, and one of them literally had two tickets to space included in the price. I have a fantastic editor who I feel like I might be a clone of considering our similar taste in shoes (sparkle shoe owners, wya?) and the fact that I’m following almost her exact career path. Am I that unoriginal? Whatever.
I proceed to stress about things like clicking the wrong tab, having too many tabs, whether or not I’m sending too many messages to my editor, whether or not my emails are going to spam, if I’m taking too many breaks, if I’m not taking enough breaks … you get the gist. So, by the end of the day I’m mentally burnt out from over-thinking and regular thinking, which means it’s time for the best part of the day. My daily little mental health walk.
Living a few blocks from Central Park has been literally the best thing to ever happen. A couple days ago, I was writing a future blog about the park in my head and getting emotional about how great this place is. Most days, I call my mom while I walk and talk about nothing. I like to romanticize my life and pretend I’m a seasoned New Yorker on the phone with their work bff and not someone who spends most of their time planning things to do when my mom comes to visit. We talk about the weather and how much colder it usually is in Chicago, sometimes about what my dad is up to and she tells me at least one crazy thing my dog did each day. I miss him but I do not miss the fear of going outside and witnessing him maul a small child because they looked at him wrong (to be clear here I’m talking about my dog, not my dad … that would be a whole different kind of strange).
The rest of the day is pretty simple and not worth subjecting you to the pain of me trying to explain and make it sound interesting (and failing). But eventually we reach the real best part, where I decide which dessert I’ll be feasting on that night. I will say the black & white cookies are a genius combination of cake and cookie and I’ll never forget about them, but I often end up watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and eating a $7 pint of ice cream, either mint chocolate chip or a flavor I bought adventurously and wish was mint chocolate chip.
This has been a completely pointless summary of my daily routine. If you made it this far, thanks for the support I guess? Anyway, I’ve been reading “wow, no thank you.” by Samantha Irby and wanted to try out some essay-style writing so let me know what you think. If I suck at it, don’t hold back (jk I’ll probably cry).
howchlocanyougo 