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 Social Media Assistant, Starling Irving.
I wake up after a night of “resting” (not to be confused with “sleeping”). Resting consists of shutting the eyes but with a painful persisting awareness of where you are. My friend Macy is still asleep on my couch, so I tiptoe to get a glass of water before taking out my laptop to get some work done. I’ve been trying not to use any screens for the first 20 minutes that I’m awake every morning, but I just photographed my first full Man Repeller shoot and I’m eager to sort through the photos.
As I open my laptop, my inbox receives a Noah’s-ark flood of emails and I realize that I’m grinding my teeth, a bad habit that I’ve picked up since moving to New York. I massage my jaw and try to ease my mind with the fact that my last day at one of my three jobs is tomorrow, so my schedule will soon be a little more manageable.
Macy is up now. She and I met while studying abroad in Bath, England. She just finished grad school in Ireland and moved to the city last week and I’m psyched we’re in the same place again. We’ve planned a lazy New York morning in celebration. This is only the third weekend I’ve spent at home in Brooklyn in the past four months, so I’m not well-versed in the local brunch scene. I get dressed in a roomy maxi dress in preparation to feast, then we Google some menus and head out. Our first choice has a 45-minute wait time, which we can’t stomach, but our second choice finds a spot for us at the bar. I devour a skillet french toast and Macy makes a crime scene out of her avocado toast.
We head to Stella Dallas, a vintage shop. It’s disgustingly muggy out, which is making me crave an autumnal wardrobe. Once we get inside, we make a pact not to let each other buy any vintage coats. (It’s easy to justify a coat purchase because 100 percent of outfits are covered by a coat for 70 percent of the year.) Instead of browsing the forbidden fruit, I entertain myself by trying on some pants that truly redefine the meaning of high-waisted.
We carry on to Horizons Vintage, a.k.a. menocore paradise. I do a loop around the store, which is full of loose-fitted, soft second-hand garments in natural colors, and find my dream October outfit: a pair of cream sweatpants disguised as dress pants, a caramel ribbed turtleneck, a thick brown leather belt, and black criss-cross flats. I’m particularly excited about the belt because it has a little leather envelope pouch, which is the perfect size for my debit and metro cards. Sometimes my boyfriend and I go on walks around the park and intentionally leave our bags and phones behind. All we bring are his apartment keys and a debit card (in case of emergencies). It feels very freeing. This belt will be very convenient for those walks.
It’s too muggy to function, so we go back to my apartment. Macy asks me to send her a photo I took yesterday to use on her LinkedIn, and then we “connect” with each other on the most professional social network. This is adulthood. Macy jokes that she wants to know who writes companies’ taglines, because too many of them say things like “We Inspire,” which gives zero info on what the company actually does. Neither of us have had a lazy day in a long time, so we decide to embrace it by turning on Sex and the City. We simultaneously cringe at Miranda flashing her boob to her neighbor.
We decide to really indulge in our lazy day and take a nap.
When I wake up, Macy has already left to meet up with her girlfriend for a movie. They’re both recent MoviePass-converts. I check my phone and see a message from my sister Rein, who’s living in Mongolia this semester. She sent our fam chat a photo of the Ger she’s living in. After looking up some info on Gers (they’re circular nomadic tents made of wood and felt), I call a friend to check in on him because his sweet dog unexpectedly passed away this morning.
By the time we hang up, I realize I’m going to be late to meet some friends — we have picnic-dinner plans. I throw on a blouse I bought at Thriftwares last week and run out the door. Halfway down the hall, I have a vague memory of my roommate listing hydrangeas as one of the things that are poisonous to cats. There’s a vase of flowers I bought on the kitchen table and I’m not sure what time my roommate is getting back to the city with her cat, so I quickly run back and move the vase to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
I check my Netflix app on the subway and see that I have an unwatched episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee featuring Bill Burr downloaded, so I watch it on the commute.
I sprint from the subway to a grocery store to buy a baguette, cheese and an apple, and then head to the Lincoln Center Fountain meet-up with two friends from boarding school. Marianna just started studying drama at Juilliard and Charlotte is working at Sotheby’s. As we take turns catching each other up on our lives, I silently wish we could send a telepathic memo back to our high-school selves to tell us that it’s all going to be okay. We also spend some time watching a man do squats while pushing his dog in a stroller around the Met Opera tree grove.
I sneak into a nearby restaurant to pee and then head further uptown for a walk around Central Park with my boyfriend. We meet up behind the Met before doing a lap around the water reserve. We talk about my photo shoot, his recent business trip, the minor anxiety attack I had on Friday, our families, our upcoming double date with Macy and her girlfriend, and things we’re stressed about. We also discuss the fact that we need to finally watch the second episode of Sharp Objects tonight. So far, every time we’ve planned on it, we end up saying we’re not in the mood for something dark and end up turning on The Office instead.
My roommate gets back to my apartment shortly after we do, so we catch up with her before retreating to my room to, finally, watch Sharp Objects.
I set my alarm an hour earlier than usual so that I’ll have time to get work done before heading to my final day as an intern in a casting agency. Then I use Henry’s shoulder as my pillow and fall asleep. Night night!
Feature photo by Louisiana Mei Gelpi.