Now that I have been working a while, I’ve gotten myself a daily routine. It’s super exciting! Come experience a (week)day in my life…
The alarm goes off somewhere between 5:30 and 6am, depending on where I am in my sleep cycle. (I use a cellphone app to track my sleep cycles, it wakes me within a half hour of my alarm when I am most receptive to being awoken. In theory.) The closer to 5:30 the alarm goes off, the higher the likelihood of me hitting snooze and making it harder for me to actually get up. Usually if it goes off around 5:45 or 5:50, I get up a little early, so I can be done with breakfast by 6. If not, I argue with myself until 6:20 about whether or not I’ll get up and work out. Then I realize it’s too late to work out and snooze some more until almost 7. (On days I ACTUALLY work out, I eat some yogurt I mixed up earlier, let it digest for a half hour while I fuck around online and feed the cats so they won’t get in the way while I work out until 7.)
At 7 I get up and shower, then sit in front of the space heater and fight with the cats for the heat it emits. After a few minutes, I slather a ridiculous amount of lotion on my back and face because they are revolting against the dry climate. (how is it SO much drier here in MD than 45 minutes of driving time southwest of here where my parents live? Seriously, my bread doesn’t mold anymore, like it once did when I lived at home, it actually gets stale. I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS A THING. And I’M CLOSER TO THE SWAMP THAT IS DC NOW. WUT.) After this, I blowdry my hair.
The blowdryer is some sort of mystical charm that lures Fitz the ginger kitty into the bathroom against his will. Most of the time he sits a foot or so away from my feet and stares balefully at the floor. Sometimes there’s kitty litter spilled on the floor and the blowdryer makes it tremble and he must kill it. When he was smaller, he’d sit on the edge of the sink and bat gently at my jigglier parts as they jiggled, but that is now beneath him. As soon as the blowdryer is turned off, he leaves again.
Next, it’s time to feed the cats. That goes something like this:
- Walk towards kitchen. Dodge cats attempts to trip you with their joy
- Grab can of food. Dodge more trip attempts.
- Step on someone’s foot or tail in the 3 foot journey between where the canned food is stored and where the cat food dishes are.
- Dish out 1/3rd of the can to each cat bowl as Fitz stretches up the length of the cabinet and Zelda mews piteously.
- Simultaneously to step 4, get headbutted several times in the crotch by Fitzy. Tell him repeatedly “No, don’t headbutt my crotch. Stop it. Gross.”
- Put food down to be devoured.
Then I get dressed and gather my semi-assembled lunch. If it’s not icy, I cycle to the metro station, and if it is I either walk or take the bus, depending on how much time I have and how much money I have on my metro card. If I’m super late I drive, but that is the worst plan ever and never works out.
Finally I arrive at work, having spent the commute thinking rude things about other commuters or taking note of how many cute animals I have seen. I work all day, and the return commute is similar to the morning commute. When I get home we repeat the morning feeding ritual, including the crotch headbutting, and then I microwave some leftovers and sit in front of the TV and laptop until 10ish, when I go to sleep. Sometimes I do chores like dishes or laundry, but mostly I just veg.