As someone who makes lists constantly but seldom follows them, my life is chaotic at best. My days start out with a goal or a plan, and often those go off the rails quickly and turn into days where nothing gets accomplished, but core memories are made. Since I cannot even begin to replicate an unplanned day in my life, I will walk you through an average one– honestly, it’s just as fulfilling.
Stage 1: Wake up
During this stage I typically snooze my alarm at least twice, then get up to use the bathroom and feed my pet rats who have been faithfully waiting for me to arise from my slumber and give them a cup-full of oats, dried fruit, and whatever else is in their gourmet food bag. Next, I will pick out an outfit and then shower (I think it is worth noting that if I cannot find a cute outfit, my day will either be ruined or I will simply not go to school or work). Then I put in my piercings (again, if I can’t get my piercings in, I will not go to school or work). If we get past all of those obstacles, then we are good to pack up for school and catch the bus. I will leave my apartment 10 minutes earlier than I need to and often decide to skip crucial steps in my routine such as putting on deodorant or brushing my teeth, all because I am terrified of not being early to wait for a bus that always runs late.
Stage 2: School
Riding the bus to school, I catch up with the driver, Mrs. Anthony. Mostly, we talk about the weather or how idiotic the pedestrians on campus are. Sometimes she tells me about residents who would like me to take their senior portraits. Sometimes I tell her about how I’m doing in school. Talking to her is often a highlight of my day and makes those 10 minutes I waited for her worth it so that I could grab the passenger seat. Once I get to school, I’m in work mode. I go across campus from the journalism building to the languages building to the math building, and by the end of all of that, I am probably covered in sweat and my rings are closed. After being on campus for a few hours, I have had enough of slow walkers, the Texas heat, and buildings that haven’t been updated since the 80s.
Stage 3: Work
Once I get home, I typically have an hour between school and work. In that time, I have a few options of what to do: 1) I can make myself a quick meal and scroll through TikTok, which gives me limited satisfaction and leaves me sleepy, 2) I can take a nap and not eat until dinnertime (which always seems like a good idea in the moment, but by early afternoon, it comes back to haunt me), or 3) I can eat a super quick lunch and take about 30 minutes to lay on my bed and work myself up to fall asleep, only to have to get up right as I’m finally ready to hit the hay. None of these is perfect, but I have not found an adequate balance yet. Hopefully, I will find it before I’m 50. This leads us to my actual work day. I work with an organization that helps youth experiencing homelessness. To most, this sounds like it would be a calming environment full of kind-hearted people who talk in soft voices. That is not at all how it is. I’ve always described it as an episode of The Office, but in real life. I walk into the building, and the Youth Advocates are having a competition of who can throw the most pieces of trash into the trash can. My supervisor is in his snuggie, scrolling through farmer TikToks (he owns like six different exotic animals). My fellow interns are drawing doodles on the whiteboards. Our executive director is Scottish and is complaining about a silent auction bidder who hasn’t come to pick up her item (it’s been six months). It’s messy and it’s chaotic and it’s a lot of fun. I go on to work for the next four and a half hours making social media posts and laughing until I cry on a couch that has been in the office since the early 2000s.
Stage 4: Homework
After work, it is dark, and I want to finally go to bed, but rarely is that in the cards for me. Typically, I get home, heat up some pizza rolls on a plate that had been sitting in the sink for a week (don’t worry, I wash them with soap before I eat off of them). I take my plate to my couch and reflect on my day with my roommate by playing High, Low, Buffalo. She tells me about her crush, I tell her about my coworkers, she tells me about how she hates the rude customers at work, I tell her about how much I despise math. This goes back and forth for about 45 minutes until she puts on Schitts Creek and I begin homework. This takes anywhere from 30 minutes to three hours, depending on whether I have homework for my Ideas In Mathematics class (it’s not a real math class. I’m struggling all the same). But once I’m done with homework, it’s time to leave my backpack on the couch, a whole wall away from my room, tell my roommate that I love her and I will see her tomorrow night, and go into my room for the night.
Stage 5: Bedtime
On a really good night, I’ll wash my face, get into clean PJs, do some journaling, read, and go to bed. Like most parts of my day, this doesn’t typically happen. Usually, I walk into my room, take off my t-shirt, bra, and pants, put my hair into a bun, take my meds, and scroll on Instagram until I get too tired to keep my eyes open. At that point, I will set my alarm for the next day, put on a true crime podcast, turn off my fairy lights, and finally hug my stuffed dinosaur while I fall asleep.
This is every day for me. It’s chaotic and messy and uncertain, even if it’s all planned out. It’s tiring, and some days it feels like I’m never going to make it. Others feel like I’m making exponential progress and just might make it in the world. Even though every moment that I live another day is a rollercoaster, I know that some day I am going to miss this. The chaos of my job. The joy of living with one of my best friends. The privilege to learn languages. The fullness of my days, and the meaning of them. Maybe it will always be this way just in different settings. Maybe tomorrow will go according to plan. Maybe nothing will happen at all and I will decide to sleep all day, skip class, and work from home. The possibilities are endless and that kind of uncertainty feels like a lot– it is a lot. I think that is the point.