It has been two months and 11 days since I moved into this cute little studio apartment in Chicago’s Northwest Side all by myself. Yes, folks, I’m like a legit grown-up now. Crazy to think that a few months ago I was cramped in my little bedroom at my parents’ house, and now I have all this space to myself, it’s ridiculous. This morning I woke up at 7:15, rolled out of bed at 8, took out the garbage, made myself a huge breakfast omelette, drank some coffee courtesy of the Keurig my dad kindly passed down to me, and now I’m sitting here in the living room listening to the Ella Fitzgerald Pandora station and wondering what on earth to do with myself.
Because, alas, I’m also finding myself encountering all these emotions and scenarios that up until now had only existed in the books and movies for me. Like yesterday, when it was a certain person’s birthday and after coming to the conclusion that he did not want to see me on his birthday, I made myself a taco and chugged through three glasses of wine before passing out on my bed at 9:30 in the evening because the thought of spending a Friday night awake and alone while everyone in the world was out having fun was just too much to bear. Then, when I checked my phone this morning, I had 10+ messages from the certain person insisting that his phone was not working and asking me what I was doing. This was all after I had gone to sleep, of course, so as a result I woke up to Snapchats from him out and having fun with our friends. Now I’m just sitting here wallowing in my sad pathetic misery.
OK. Enough wallowing. Must shower and get on with life.