After a few weeks of waxing poetic on the wildly uninteresting inadequacies in my life, I’ve come to the realization that I’ve never actually detailed a full *Typical* day in my life. Stories and colorful anecdotes, while entertaining, only provide glimpses into reality. It’s like only looking at photos from that trip you took last year with your family, and falsely believing that the happy memories they reflect were the only things that happened that week. Like sure, it’s easy to forget about how you all secretly resented each other by the end of the trip when you’re looking fondly at that picture of forced smiles from beach day. But it’s not really a fair representation of history. As such, I’d like to give you all a more complete breakdown of what it really *means* to be Tom, a play-by-play analysis of the constant boredom and mild emotional irritation with which I live my every day. For the sake of word count and American attention spans, we’ll stick to just a typical Saturday or Sunday (although the full schedule is below to provide a more complete context). Please Enjoy.
- Stare at Back of Eyelids: The only somewhat accurate phrase I’ve been able to come up with to describe how I sleep. To simply put “Sleep” would be to imply that I might also dream and wake up well-rested to take on the day ahead. As neither of these things are true, I find myself mentally incapable of listing it as such. No, instead I lie on my back, arms crossed over my chest (In an admittedly uncomfortably vampiric fashion), with a thin fold of skin the only thing separating my eyeballs from the sight of my ceiling. It is a practice as devoid of rest and life as a corpse with insomnia. Yet it remains part of my fun little routine (*giggles manically*), and it has firmly rooted itself into my early morning schedule.
- Take Inventory of Life: Usually involving such questions as “Why am I here” and “Oh boy, do I really get the *privilege* of waking up to do this all over again”, this time of my morning is spent either lying despondently in bed, or standing depressingly in the shower. It is a critical steppingstone between what can loosely be called sleep and what can loosely be called being awake, and no morning is complete without this period of somber reflection.
- Coffee and Silence: Truly my favorite part of any morning, this period is spent doing exactly what the title suggests: Drinking enough of that sweet, satisfying bean juice to kill a small child, and sitting silent and thoughtful on my couch. There are no interruptions in this activity. No music is playing in the background, no TV is blaring its idiotic chatter to ruin the calmness of this self-imposed bubble of calm and quiet. It is not a peaceful calm. It is not a tranquil quiet. It is restless and fidgety, marked by intermittent foot tapping, finger drumming, and eye twitching. It is a practice designed solely to give me the artificial energy to face the day, and the mental headspace to not want to. I would not miss it for the world.
- Aimless Walking: We’ve reviewed this in *excruciating detail* in a prior post, but this is the time of my morning when I attempt the closest thing to exercise that I will ever approach throughout the course of the entire day. After a period of silent, caffeinated contemplation on the absurdity of our existence, it becomes critical to walk off the angst and listen to some moody music. Because honestly, why even tolerate existential dread if you can’t at least evaluate it within the context of some aggressively melodramatic tunes? And if I throw a bang flip in there while walking past the café or the tennis courts, well then that’s just me spreading the emotionally volatile love, and you’re welcome for the show.
- Aimless Blogging: The activity I am doing at right this very moment. Does it qualm the angst? Not entirely. But it gives me an excuse to go to coffee shops, and stare pensively off down a crowded street. And those are opportunities I don’t pass up lightly.
- Questionable Food Choices: This could ultimately mean a few things depending on the day, but there are a few common similarities that hold true each week. First, whatever foodstuff I consume will have enough sodium content to dry up a small lake or give an otherwise healthy teenager the sort of hypertension that indicates imminent death. Second, it usually contains a spice and fat content that will make sleep even more difficult than it normally is. Staring at the back of one’s eyelids is inherently a dull activity, and *jazzing* it up a bit with a few habaneros and the equivalent of a jar of bacon grease reminds me in those quiet hours of the morning that I’m still alive, and capable of feeling something (anything). And lastly, it must be concluded with ice cream, since I’m a sucker for supporting small businesses, and the Dairy Queen down the street *really* needs my business in these trying times.
- Memes: I have yet to find an emotion or general state of being that a meme can’t reflect in far greater detail and accuracy than my words alone. Instagram is my weapon of choice, but the delicious content being creating by the multitude of like-minded existentialists on the platform are my ammunition. I might not return a text, answer a phone call, or otherwise acknowledge your existence. But dammit, I’ll make sure to send you a dank meme detailing my suffering or my affinity for a particular dog or raccoon. I’m a stolid believer that all human communication can ultimately be replaced by sending memes, and this is my hour to practice what I preach.
- Pacing: It’s like walking, but inside! My downstairs neighbors are truly excellent and kind people, so I occasionally like to repay the favor by making them listen to my chaotic footballs on the ceiling above them. It’s not that I *want* to bother them, it’s just that I have a lot of restless anxiety to work off, and I forgot to wear sunscreen on my morning walk – so I can’t just *go back outside* now that my skin is roughly the hue of an overripe tomato. You all get it. And I hope they do too.
- Angsty Driving: The spiritual equivalent to my morning walk, this explicitly evening-bound activity is my chance to really channel my inner emo. For truly, what can be more angsty than driving 90 mph down the highway, windows open, bangs blowing in the wind, as Fall Out Bot blares from my car radio? The wind and speed make me feel alive with youthful exhilaration, as the rhythm of the music vibrates through my soul. And truly, for a moment, I can forget that all of this is taking place within the confines of a Honda Civic.
- Drink My Feelings: The perfect end to any day, when the sun has set, I like to grab a glass of bourbon (and maybe some pretzels if I’m feeling *daring* tonight) and sit on my balcony. Admittedly, I have yet to purchase any chairs (or really furniture in general) for the balcony. So, this really turns into gently leaning against the railing, with my glass precariously perched on the ledge, as children pass by with their parents on the street below me, pointing and staring. “Don’t look at him, Billy. Don’t give him the satisfaction. This is why we tell you to eat your vegetables. So you don’t end up like this poor soul.” But regardless of what Billy’s small-minded father thinks, this shot of ethanol to the system is both delicious and helps me feel slightly more content with my life and the world at large.
- Stare at Ceiling: How any night of restless sleep begins. Eventually the hypnotic whiteness of my ceiling lulls me into a state of peaceful indifference. Much like the hypnotic whiteness of my skin will lull a passerby into a sense of pity for what can only be a “horribly ill and diseased man”. And as my day began lying motionless on my bed, so too does it end. Tomorrow will not be better.
So, there you have it. A typical Saturday or Sunday in the life of Tom. I hope you learned something and are walking away with a far greater understanding of my daily routine than you ever hoped to acquire. And if you find yourself sad and distressed that the fun is ending, then cheer up! For at a later date, I’ll go into the exact same level of painful detail on the subsequent days of the week.
Until then, it is now 5 o’clock – I’m off to take an aimless walk.