The French have balconies, New Yorkers have fire escapes. Naturally, each has its appeal, but as I woke up to the diabolical sounds of pigeons fighting on the fire escape, the answer was obvious.
Getting ready under 5 minutes might seem like Mission Impossible, but I have perfected the art of procrastination in the morning. Would it really kill me to wake up an hour earlier to enjoy the comparably cool mornings? No. But I also wake up earlier than the average American, and requires much less maintenance.
We can only be so perfect.
I've almost forgotten the kids were going back to school, and the train would be packed like sardine cans again. I stood in front of the Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan poster, silently thanking my noise canceling headphones for drowning out the neighboring voices. A young boy was wearing a full suit, pocket square and all, while his father was giving him a Ted talk. The boy nodded solemnly at each passing sentence, and wiped his forehead stealthily. I don't blame ye, little fellow. It was 84% humidity, and only 7:40 in the morning.
The train swung through the tracks in the nick of time, before we both melt into a puddle. I miraculously secured a seat, and turned on Spotify to look for the song of the hour. The feed recommended me a new playlist called Life Sucks. I feel like I shouldn't take it personally. After all, just because it coincided with my current mood, it didn't have to ring true. But who decided "River Flows in You" belonged in the Life Sucks category? The song was a goldmine, you can literally waltz to it. And who decided to include two of Avril Lavigne's lesser known songs in a sea of fifty, then decided to throw in a cover of Avril's most popular song, Complicated? I clicked the cover, mostly out of spite, and proceeded to murmur inside my head some more about the poor choice.
Half an hour on the train can pass by in a blink of an eye, or in agony. A group of girls chattered with glee, their school uniforms pressed to a tee. I looked at them with a sense of ...what, dread, contempt, jealousy? Jealous of their youth, contempt for their sense of carefree, yearn for their friendship?
It was none of these things. I found myself smiling at their unabashed joy, as if I was part of the bubble.
Until it was time to get off the train, and join the sea of commuters.
--
The Good Place is honestly one of the best shows. Highly worth a watch. I ought to feel guilty of binging through half of the season in one setting, but at 20 odd minutes per episode, it's a treasure chest.
My motto these days is "I can make that." For instance, why are silk pajamas so shockingly expensive? It almost makes one want to take a class, and make her own. Surely the labor, and the materials do not cost $500. I'm looking at you, Olivia Von Halle.
Though I probably won't make shampoo, or conditioner, for that matter. Lesson learned from accidentally using shampoo as my body wash earlier. They were most definitely not interchangeable.
With that said, I ended up making wontons in the boiling heat. Guess this means I have to wake up earlier tomorrow to eat them, huh.
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