It’s Tuesday, and, at 5:43a.m., I woke up in the life of a college boy. I could have been lying in a pool of sweat or blood or urine or rain; instead, I was wrapped in a mess of sheets dashed with $4. I guess I didn’t finish that coconut water or screw the top tight enough. Don’t shop at 711; I’ve heard it before.
I lost my keys in my apartment, and you can’t see the floor of my bedroom underneath the duffle bags of clean clothes that suddenly feel dirty again, but my toes are hot pink, and my heels are exfoliated. I feel less cramped, or, at least, like I could be.
While I was sitting in the best nail salon massage chair of my life last night, I found out I had a mutual acquaintance-friend with the boy-man who was painting my nails. His name is Mike, and I might have to become one of his regular clients. He makes me feel like the big world is small—not like my small world is big, and definitely not like my small world is smaller. The acquaintance friend is a yogi; om namah shivayah, let’s take that for whatever I want it to be.
This winter, I was a regular at Starbucks. It warmed my heart, kept me energized, and made me feel like I had a purpose, an adult life, and an important job. After several months of, “Hey, Clarkie! We are actually JUST got new regular vanilla!” and “What is with this weather?” I had to cut myself off.
Sorry, Starbucks; I think I found a replacement.
Two nights ago, Mike and his brother made Korean short ribs, and last night we all watched The Bachelor Pad together and discussed whether or not it’s necessary to tell someone that they are making a mistake with their first choice for nail color. Some things aren’t completely subjective, and I want to see myself through the eyes of the rest of the world every once in a while. I want the strength to stand by my opinion, but I want to see more than myself. People respect Mike, and he also feels it’s important to speak his mind.
I spilled leftover coffee from the morning out of my personal French press mug and all over the pedicure chair. Something changed in me, and I wasn’t afraid to tell Mike and his family about it. I explained the situation and said, “I pretty much cleaned it up with my dress and the towel you put on my knees, but you might want to wipe that chair down anyways. Enjoy your night — my fingernails and I will be back later this week!” It just felt right.