Home is where the hot plate is
A weekend in my life.
This week proved that I don’t know much about jet lag at all.
I thought that by landing back in the United States at 4:30 PM, steaming and showering at Equinox, staying awake by perusing through Whole Foods like a zombie, and then going to sleep at 9, I would officially biohack my way out of Barcelona time and into my regularly scheduled programming.
I was wrong.
The entire week I felt a weird haze looming over me, different than the dark cloud I described a few weeks back, but an odd, barely there fog that made me feel like I was drunk through my days. My neck ached, I had a multi-day headache that I still have, and every night at 8:30, my eyes became unimaginably heavy.
As you all know, I’m a chronic fomo sufferer, typically panic texting my friends every Friday asking what they’re doing this weekend. Everyone was pretty lowkey—dogsitting with their boyfriend, laying low because of law school finals, Mets game with family, etc. That morning, I had looked around my disgusting apartment that had a layer of dust on every surface, a hamper full of laundry from my trip and before, and a shower that desperately needed bleaching. My weekend destiny was decided for me.
What does a chill weekend in my life look like? I’m happy to share.
On Friday I would scrub my apartment until my fingers became raw, spend the night dodging drunk people on the way to my laundry room, and organize every cabinet I had. For lunch, I had treated myself to a Vodka Parm from Compton’s because I was slightly hungover from a first date the night before and neglected a meal-prepped salad, which had to be for dinner out of the new principles of my finances.
When all of my ducks were in a row, I had gone through three Swiffer Wet Pads, and my pantry was a perfect little Jenga tower, I watched The Truth and Tragedy of Moriah Wilson on Netflix which was devastating and gripping while playing Animal Crossing, completing a May Day challenge bequest on me by Tom Nook and renovating my bathroom. This weekend, I also wanted to get a lot of reading done, particularly finishing Famesick by Lena Dunham. I crawled into bed around 10, read a chapter, and slept for approximately 12 hours.
On Saturday, my sister and I had plans to get lunch at EJ’s Luncheonette and walk around the Upper East Side, her new hood. We started with Honeybun Lattes at Casita of Brooklyn, a place that I’ve come to love after my first visit to her apartment, and embarked on a rainy journey down to EJ’s. Something we need to work on is walking with umbrellas at the same time next to each other. I eventually gave up and just went with my hat and trench coat.
Someone ruined EJ’s by posting about it on TikTok, so the line was wrapped around the block. We settled for the bar at Gracie Mews Diner, which was delicious while slightly expensive for a casual brunch. I got a bloody mary because, when in Rome. Monte Cristo sandwiches have been my favorite ever since I was a kid, and the Gracie Mews one was the perfect substitute for my favorite Connecticut diner that has since shuttered.
We then went to Zitomer’s where we got matching acrylic headbands a-la CBK (remember when I talked shit about those during Love Story), pondered over the Victoria Beckham makeup counter, and marveled a the wall of Mason Pearson hairbrushes before making our final stop at the Nespresso store.
So, I had never been to a Nespresso store until that point. I always just ordered on their app, because it’s incredible and fun to use. I didn’t realize that this was basically an Apple Store for coffee, with samples and bundles galore, as well as an espresso bar where you could get 20% off a drink with any purchase. I walked out with the Blue Bottle three-pack, cup, and ice tray set as well as the honey pistachio latte to enjoy for my long trip home.
By the time I returned back to the Lower East Side, it was pouring rain. I had a few loose plans or potential meetups in the works, but the idea of leaving my cozy, squeaky clean digs seemed impossible at the moment. I had also blew $60 at Nespresso, so it was in my best interest to lay low for the night in light of my recent international travels and money-spending.
I made some Kevin’s Mongolian beef on my hot plate (my building’s gas line has been under repairs and I can’t live without Goodles), cozied up once again on my couch, and watched NBA Playoff Basketball while reading Famesick.
This weekend at home, I felt so happy after an elongated period of sluggish sadness that I was afraid something was wrong with me. As I sat on the couch, watching a horrific documentary of a girl my age who got murdered and eating a salad I made, or stirring Mongolian beef on my hot plate while cheering for no team in particular, I was overcome with a cozy feeling in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a long time by myself. Recently, whenever I’m particularly level-headed or clear and sound in decision making, I genuinely wonder if my frontal lobe developing is something you can feel happening. I avoided all normal ruminating on how I’m young, I should be at the club or at a dinner with my friends at the very least, and genuinely loved being by myself in this space I curated just for me.
On Sunday I went to the pottery studio, where I got back on the wheel for the first time in what I think was a little over a month. Just like riding a bike, I made one of my favorite pieces to-date, and three of the biggest I had ever been able to accomplish.
After the studio, I hit Trader Joe’s and bought things that a sixth-grader who was given independence and autonomy in the grocery store would—frozen crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, instant garlic Thai noodles, potato chips, etc., as well as some beautiful ranunculus. I also hadn’t bought flowers in a few months, another step towards grounding myself and letting the fog pass.
Showering and steaming at the Equinox has brought me a lot of joy recently as well. As the final step to my recovery weekend, I laid splayed out on the stone step, taking in the hot, eucalyptus air, then enjoying the plethora of Le Labo products that my luxury gym membership has to offer. I had never felt cleaner.
This week has a lot in store for me that I’m excited about—the premiere of The Devil Wears Prada: 2 to be most specific. I didn’t want to be just barely crawling my way through like I was before, I wanted to feel like myself again. Mission accomplished.