01.15.23

I haven’t eaten anything yet today, but I had coffee.

I didn’t set an alarm this morning, which I do most days, and just let myself sleep until my body woke up.

I sat at home all morning finishing up my book — The Idiot by Elif Batuman. I really enjoyed it.

I wanted to leave the house but I didn’t have a plan. I put my headphones in and put on a playlist I made a couple winters ago. I like to listen to music at home alone in my AirPods so I can listen to it loud without disturbing my neighbors, since I keep my windows open most of the time. Two Bee Gees songs play in a row.

I got dressed, pulling on Old Navy jeans that are in need of a wash but are a size too big and therefore are comfortable, along with a tight white shirt with a floral print that reminds me of my childhood, somehow. I must have had tights with a similar print on them growing up (and it had to be tights because I wouldn’t have worn a dress that had a white base — not colorful enough).

I pull on the bright magenta winter coat that I purchased on a whim at Target a few weeks ago, even though my credit card bill was high and my paycheck was late. My heavy winter coat from a couple years ago doesn’t fit so well because I was lying to myself about what size I needed. I cut the tags out of the new pink coat. It matches the color concept of my nails. I put my hair in a low bun. I consider grabbing the hat my mom gave me for Christmas, but due to its color and shape, coupled with the shape of my head and hair, I think it makes me look like a condom. I had this thought when I was trying it on on Christmas Day, and laughed so hard I had to compose myself in the bathroom before I went back out to show my mom — who thought it was adorable, of course. I wore it on walks with her for that week I was home for the holidays. She won’t know that I chose not to wear it today.

I pick out a bag — a green Worcester tote gifted to me by my friends who live out there. I don’t use it much, it was mostly a means of transporting other gifts, but I like it with my pink coat. I stow some snacks in there in case I get hungry — a green apple that’s been in my fridge for too long, a Kind granola bar, peanut M&Ms. I glance at the sky through the window to gauge how sunny it is and decide I will need sunglasses. I pull out my heart-shaped ones — I usually think these are too much when I try them on, but today they feel correct with the bright ensemble I’ve put together. My nails and outfit go together quite nicely — pink, purple, blue, green, and white. Two Haim songs play in a row.

I step into my white slip on sneakers that are dirty on the toes from wearing them in the rain. I always think to myself that I should clean them but I never do, because the times that I think of it are when I’m about to put them on to wear out, which wouldn’t be a good time for them to be damp. They are too flat for my feet but I wear them all the time. I have bad arches, and therefore bad ankles, and therefore bad knees, and therefore bad hips, and those things will be exacerbated by walking in such flat shoes, but at least I don’t have to tie them.

I take some cash out and get on the A Train heading south (obviously — there’s only one stop north of me in Manhattan). I decide I’ll get off at High Street and go to Brooklyn Bridge Park, where I’ve never been, and take the ferry, which I’ve never done, and walk to my weed place in Williamsburg, which I do too often. I listen to a man tell another man that he likes his bag, and they chat for a while. The complimenter wishes the complimentee a good day on his way out at his stop. I start Stay True by Hua Hsu on the train. I realize I’ve forgotten to wear my usual ring on my left middle finger.

I revel in anonymity when I go out by myself, even in my particularly loud outfit. This is something about living alone — you don’t have anyone keeping track of you at all. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going today. I always wonder how long it would take for people to start looking into it if something happened to me. How many hours of unanswered texts before my mom worries? Would my therapist be concerned if I didn’t show up to my appointment tomorrow, or would she just think it had slipped my mind, I was confused because of the holiday? If I didn’t get back to anyone at work on Tuesday, would they just think I was busy with other things and think little of it? If I didn’t show up to volleyball that night, or reply to my friend who will be in town on Wednesday, what would they think? I bet a whole week would go by, at least, before people started talking to each other and confirming that no one else had seen me either. It is equal parts sinister and joyous.

I keep my mask on most of the time, mostly to keep my face warmer. I ran out of KN95s, so I’ve been wearing a cloth mask from the early days of the pandemic, even though I know they’re not very effective. This one is striped blue and white and is a little too loose. It came for free in a Madewell order when all the clothing companies that made masks realized they made too many and needed to offload them on unsuspecting online shoppers like myself. I like the shape of this one better than the Gap ones I procured by the same means. It sort of smells like bubblegum, which is odd because I don’t really chew gum, and if I do it’s definitely not bubblegum. The inside of it has stains from lipstick I used as blush. I should really throw it in the wash with my jeans.

It’s blustery when I get off the train. I struggle to keep the shorter front pieces of my hair that couldn’t reach my bun tucked behind my ears. I take out my granola bar to eat, and it freezes in the frigid air almost immediately. It still tastes fine, it’s just extra crumbly. It’s not a Nature Valley bar but now it might as well be.

It’s even windier on the pier in Dumbo (at Dumbo?). Without my brightly colored impulse buy Target coat I’d have been very cold. Even still, I almost wish I had my condom hat. I definitely wish I had gloves. I put my hood up. Two Mitski songs play in a row.

I eat my apple while I wait for the ferry to bring me to South Williamsburg (what better to do on a cold and windy day than get on a fucking boat). I think about how TV shows when I was growing up always said that the way you ate an apple indicated whether or not you were a good kisser. I’ve never kissed anyone who used this much teeth.

I normally prefer to sit outside on boats, but it’s very cold (I know I have mentioned this, but you keep bringing it up). I sit by a dirty window. For the view.

I don’t like going to Williamsburg. It’s only convenience is when I’m on my way to a birthday party in Brooklyn. I can hop off the train and buy weed, alcohol, and some kind of special-seeming gift within a few block radius and then get back on the L. The DisneyWorld of Brooklyn, my brother calls it — a joke I regurgitate and pass off as my own often. When you’re right, you’re right.

I pick up a pre-roll at my usual place and walk back to the Willliamsburg bridge and walk over. Three Valerie June songs play in a row, but only because I restart “Somebody to Love” at its end to hear it again as the sun lowers over the water to my left.