It’s a beautiful Thursday. The sun is shining, the sunflowers are swaying in the gentle breeze. You were productive and got some work done even though it was just apartment searching for an apartment that is way out of your price range, in a city where you probably won’t even get a job in. So yah, super productive.
Then you get home and grab a delicious meal for yourself which includes a Crunchwrap Supreme, Double Decker Taco Supreme, the new Potato-rito. You got Taco Bell.
It starts raining. What better than to pop in some good ol’ Harry Potter? Nothing. That’s what.
You start becoming more and more relaxed with each delectable bite that you of that scrumptious Taco Bell. You glance at the wine rack on the wall and realize you have actual wine instead of those empty bottles your mom gives you for “pinterest crafts.” Sure it’s the super cheap of the cheapy cheap aka Barefoot Moscato.
So what? You have a plastic Harry Potter butter beer mug that your mother gave you from the trip that she took without you. How fitting. You crack open that sweet, carbonated beverage and sigh lovingly as you hear the wine fizz and chug.
You’re feeling pretty good at this point. You’ve seen Harry Potter ten bajillion times so you start swiping on your dating apps mindlessly. Another glass of wine later, you realize the credits have been bouncing on the screen for a few minutes.
You turn off the movie and begin scrolling through Netxlic. The Great British Baking Show. You’re on season three and they just made Flaunas. How cute? They’re British and obviously very fancy. Fancy people drink wine. So, naturally, you pour yourself another glass. Duh. Mary Berry would be disappointed if you didn’t.
A few glasses later and you find yourself all snuggled in bed by 8:00pm, watching some movie about boys needing a date for their sister’s wedding. You begin laughing hysterically at parts that aren’t even funny.
Then all of the sudden you find yourself missing the end of the movie because you are on the phone with a Tinder boy. He’s from Ghana, as in Africa. And doesn’t seem to understand your American slang. He seemed puzzled when you, for some reason, mention the word “hillbilly”. What are you doing? Nope. Goodbye.
You hang up and realize this would be the perfect time to write a lil something something. Could be funny, right? So you write a note to yourself about your wild Thursday evening. This note may have included phrases like, “Love u, ur beautiful and also congrats on losing four pounds since May. It only took you four months but congrats.”
You end up falling asleep, phone in hand, having twenty thousand people messaging you because you decided to start twenty thousand conversations at the last second.
You wake up at 4:45 am after having a bad dream about a monster because your subconscious is five years old. So you watch funny YouTube videos to make you less scared.
One thing leads to another and you somehow end up watching a 20-minute video about bilingual celebrities. You ain’t mad about it.
You fall back asleep around eight o’clock and wake back up at ten and go about your day as usual.
This is life when you are a single, 23-year-old woman living alone. And ya know what? It’s perfectly okay. I just hope I can laugh about this in like a week. But who knows, I’ll probably be too lit and sleepy to care.