I’ve recently become very attached to my daily routine—I feel like the ins and outs of everyday are something that as a student, I wasn’t really able to appreciate fully because of the loose structure of my life back in college (the later years, anyway). I always felt like I was either in such a rush—to get to school, to beat traffic—that I was always half and half out of my routine or in a state of intense apathy (f it, I’m not going today). In a lot of ways, working has really reinforced that part of me that enjoys the stability of knowing where I’ll be, when I’ll be. I’m not sure if all this will be very interesting to anyone but I decided to share this anyway because it makes me happy. 🙂 And that’s what coffee and flowers is about. Click under the cut for more!
It makes me happy to get up (without an alarm, these days—thanks to the sunshine coming in through the window) at around 5:30 in the morning, put on my work out gear and kick the day off with some circuitry action at 6:00. I never used to like working out in the mornings because it made me feel like an engine being revved before warming up. Also I figured, how could you spend the energy before you had it? But for some reason I think the sit-down-and-focus nature of my job has allowed me to like that sudden burst of energy: especially since my usual routine of walking outside after lunch has been interrupted by the damn heat.
Since the routine I do is only around 30 to 35 minutes long, I’m usually in the shower by around 6:15. As of late, things like which body wash to use have made me really happy—the answers are: Raspberry on colder days, Mandarin when it’s hot out and Peach when the other two don’t apply (Ivory Aloe at night).
By 6:30, it’s time to dress up. And then I put my make up on—while the products vary, for the most part the order is the same: tinted moisturizer, eye shadow/liner, brows, lips, (sometimes) powder.
At 7:00, I head downstairs to make coffee. While that’s brewing, I peek into the ref and take some breakfast with me—sometimes there isn’t anything and I just get myself some Enervon (stirred in with a teensy amount of hot water, then chilled with ice and not-hot water) but other days I’m lucky and I can get cake or bread or a cupcake that someone left behind. The coffee’s done: I put it into the Starbucks tumbler my sister got me for graduation.
I’m brought out via car (sometimes I drive but gas is expensive), to the shuttle terminal. I like getting there early so I don’t have to stand in line—this means I have to leave by 7:15. I get to the terminal (I park first if I drove, naturally), pay my 70 bucks and get into the crowded van with fellow people heading to the commute into the city. Text my boyfriend. The ride doesn’t last long: around 35 minutes tops.
The playlist, sometimes on shuffle in no definite order: Franz Ferdinand, Haim, Lady Gaga, Rooney, The Strokes.
The shuttle can take either of three exits which open up into three separate routes, but for the most part it takes the one that drops me off around three blocks away from my office. The walk used to be (more) pleasant but the recent flood of sun has made this one of the biggest challenges of my work day: the sun beating down on you is not the best; especially when you’re allergic to SPF. I get to the office at around 8:00—just in time for breakfast.
While eating, I check my e-mail(s), review my To Do list and read online magazines: typically, Rookie or A Beautiful Mess. I text my boyfriend that I’ve arrived. I finish eating by 8:15, go to the bathroom and touch up my make-up, see if I have been sun damaged. At 8:20, I begin looking for news (part of the job description). My seatmate typically arrives around 8:30 to 8:45—if not 8:59, on the dot. Someone says something. We settle into the work day.
I find that the day passes in work-induced comas or lapses in consciousness. Like there’s an em dash between 9:01 and 11:30. Typically, I “regain consciousness” at around 11:00 and begin wrapping up the first part of my To Do list.
When the clock strikes 12:01 (I don’t want to look too eager), I get up and put my lunch in the microwave for a minute (literally). I get water from the dispenser while my food is spinning. I eat while reading. I sit around, sometimes talk to people, sometimes check my social media shiz on my phone. At around 12:40, my seatmate gets up to eat lunch and I go back to my desk–I’m not sure why but I like this switching, like we’re taking turns manning a post.
I read at my desk until 1:00 and begin again: slip back into the writing coma.
3:00, emerge from the trance, look at the afternoon outside–people at the bank, a woman crossing the street, someone walking the dog.
4:00 eat merienda, work on the last points on the To Do list.
5:00, cross points off of the list. Make list for the next day.
5:45, go to the bathroom–de-oil face, reapply lipstick.
6:00, pack up. Say good-bye. Start walking to the shuttle. Text my boyfriend.
6:30, get to the shuttle terminal. 6:45, get on a van. 7:30, get to Alabang–8:00, home.
Maybe dinner. Always the internet. 10:30 or 11:00, text my boyfriend, head to bed.
Mundane, yes. Wars have been fought for the mundane to exist, to continue existing.