Today, I noticed how perfect it is to wake up a little bit before the alarm, keeping your eyes closed to enjoy the warm, quiet dark. My first act of grit was prying myself out of bed and into the shower, and then out into the whipping rain. It was slanty, icy rain – the worst kind.
At the beginning, the walk to work felt impossibly long but I soon got in the swing of it, listening to Wesley Morris talk about penises (it was fascinating!). There seemed to be an uncommon amount of cars and trucks desperate to splash me with the cold dirty water that’s been sitting on the road. Gross. I didn’t get splashed, but that was just good luck, not strategy.
I arrived at the office wet – my legs and head were especially wet and there was a triangular wet patch at the bottom of my skirt, as if I peed myself in a very shapely way. I did not. The world seemed a little kaleidoscope-y through my water splattered glasses.
At the office, I met with the avuncular pension’s guy who has clearly just come in for a chat and to ask if I liked his tie. My favourite moment was when he called his son to ask some technical question (he’s the sales guy, not actual pension guy) and says “we’ll do that when I get back home, I mean to the office”. It was sweet and a little concerning.
The office was warm and smelt a little like our lunches. I took my supplements because it says on the box that they are gonna make me the perfect woman. I noticed how much I like the sweet little slurpy noise some people make when they drink hot tea. I noticed how the tea bag flopped out of the cup and onto the floor beside the bin in a comedic way.
At lunch, rather than read about the offensive in Mosel, I looked at 274 images of Michelle Obama wearing various chic outfits over the last 8 years. Do people still say chic?
On the way home, the light was pretty and muted. I picked up milk and garlic.
I noticed how much I like reading short little vignettes of life experience on other people’s blogs and tinyletters. Over time, these pieces accrue into something more solid, something resembling a voice and a perspective and (sometimes) a narrative arc. On their own they capture some specific unimportant life experience with a reassuring nod toward the daily grind of life.
I especially like these pieces from women of my vintage and experience. It’s like the writing equivalent of Instagram shots, though they are not aesthetically perfected nor do they seek to reflect some fake sense of aspiration. There’s a unique pleasure in seeing yourself in the echos of someone else’s psyche. This pieces – domestic and inconsequential – are very comforting. Right now, I’m thinking of the writing of Emily, Meghan, Justin, Kate and many others over here.
P.S. Click here for more writing using the same prompt.