Man Repeller's Photographer Shares Her Sunday Scaries
A Sunday Scaries Diary With a Perfect Weekend Formula

Welcome to MR’s Sunday Scaries Diaries, where we chronicle our post-weekend nerves in an effort to make all of us feel a little less alone as we procrastinate Monday. Below, the Sunday Scaries Diary of MR’s Photographer and Photo Editor, Edith Young.

Ever since graduating from college, I’ve been diligently dedicated to my craft, which is mastering the art of the weekend. The equation I’ve been fiddling with looks something like this: at least one element of fun or play (an adventure to a new place or with an arbitrary, stupid goal, or a party), casual exercise, a period of horizontal reading, one movie or TV viewing, a chunk of un-rushed time to make something/work on a personal project, completion of one errand in a leisurely fashion, plus plenty of sleep. Sunday gets a bad wrap, but I try to remember that it still constitutes a tremendous percentage of the weekend. Spent between New England and New York, I’d like to think I scored pretty high on this end-of-vacation Sunday.


Like most good days, I wake up. I had a dream that Larry David visited my house (I’ve never had this dream before), which transitioned into some other dream sequence about my college graduation turning into a scavenger hunt.

[The Curb Your Enthusiasm theme plays softly] Da da-da da da-da da…


I’m running through my to-do list with my sleep mask still covering my eyes. After taking a gleeful hiatus from both my work and personal inboxes for the entire week, I recall all the nibs and nobs I need to order or buy (namely, packing tape for an elaborate scheme I’m running back at home in New York), the e-mail replies I owe and a location release I need to get signed for tomorrow. This clarity vanishes as soon as I remove my sleep mask, faster than I can jot down these bullet points in my planner. 


My significant other is packing to leave for the airport earlier than I am. He and I debate whether my Etsy sleep mask is supposed to be shaped like an owl or a cat. A riveting debate indeed.


Alex leaves for the airport. : – (

We are two years into the long distance portion of our relationship (we met in Providence but now live on opposite coasts), but at least I know I will see him again in two weeks.


I eat a peach for breakfast. Stone fruit or the highway!!!


Change into bike shorts and my Printed Goods t-shirt and I go on a long bike ride, looping around town with the sun just starting to bake the streets. Total elation. I’m surprised by how something so simple can make me so happy. I wish it were safer (and more blissful) to ride a bike in NYC.


Shower up, clean up, pack up. I find one of Alex’s t-shirts hiding behind a throw pillow. C’mon, Alex!!!


My grandparents come over for lunch, which is comprised of leftover paella, salad, and varieties of cheese that my brother and his girlfriend picked out. It is fun.


Everyone piles into the car and we head to the airport. On the ride over, we review each person’s highlights and lowlights from the week. My lowlight was when we went to a funky restaurant with a pink Elvis-themed bathroom (that’s not the low part) and they succeeded in serving everyone’s lunch order except mine. The rest of the week’s events were a resounding and collective highlight.


The airport! Now this is the part where this story gets really good. Just kidding. But I had heard from some friends that one of my photos was published in a People Magazine spread, and so I buy the issue before shuffling through security. My favorite thing about small airports is how warm the TSA agents are when you request that they hand-check your film.


We run into MR’s Social Media Assistant Starling at the airport. We thought we’d be on the same flight but it turns out we’re going to different New York airports. My party finds our gate. Starling texts me a funny observation from a cool 75 feet away and the fact that she is sitting a few gates over tickles me.


I’ve had Ramble On by Led Zeppelin stuck in my head all week.


We board and buckle up for a brief flight. I recognize a bunch of places we fly above. Then I remember that I’ve been waiting to read My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh, which was released today, so now I can read the sample on my phone’s Books app. (I love doing this to preview a book before I fully commit to buying it or checking it out of the New York Public Library. Sometimes I read a bunch of samples I’ve saved up on a flight and it’s like a literary picnic.)


I’m hooked on the 49 pages available for free in this sample. So far there seems to be a bit of thematic overlap with Alexandra Kleeman’s You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine, another book sample I’ve been meaning to revisit. Still a bit more time left on this flight, so I pick up where I left off on the Anna Delvey story, which is nestled deep in my Pocket app. (Everyone else finished this a month ago… but time is a continuum, I don’t buy into your hype cycle, etc, etc.)


We land at LaGuardia. If you’ve arrived at LaGuardia Airport any time recently, you likely know what comes next.


Inexplicably there are no taxis coming into the airport, and the bus is being finicky too. The only way out is Uber/Lyft, and there is no use explaining here how the Uber/Lyft system at LGA is, in fact, not a system at all. This is the kind of mundane time suck that is easy to get worked up and heated over, especially on a Sunday, but I try to maintain a zen outlook because whatever!

6ish (???)

In a vehicle going in the direction of home. We drive by a building that says something like “BLACK CAR/LIMOUSINE WELLNESS CENTER” and I try to snap a photo before we cruise past it, but I’ve been on vacation and my photo game is off! I call to make a dinner reservation at one of my family’s favorite Italian restaurants uptown and I’m told there are only outdoor tables available, which is what I’ve been angling for all along.


Home sweet home. The weather is perfect, in the mid 70s without much humidity and I know I shouldn’t get used to it. The long walk to the restaurant at this temperature feels more like a languid float, like that Marc Chagall painting, Birthday.


Comment below if you really want to read a paragraph about what dinner on a Sunday is like.


My brother and I have never seen Animal House before (though somehow I’ve watched A Futile and Stupid Gesture twice this year), and I’ve had it rented out on Netflix DVD for a while (don’t @ me), so we finally settle down to watch it. Takes a while to remember how to use the DVD player. Almost lose hope on the DVD player and the entire enterprise. My brother falls asleep halfway through the movie (rave review) and so we pause and leave the rest for tomorrow.


I’m an incurable night owl (jury’s still out on that sleep mask, by the way), but in some kind of uncharacteristic post-vacation haze, I practice flawless sleep hygiene and go to bed at a reasonable hour, “you make me want to shout!” and John Belushi’s bellows of “To-ga! Toga! Toga!” ringing in my ears.

Graphic by Madeline Montoya. Photos by Edith Young.

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