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 Managing Editor, Nora Taylor.
I’ve recently become pretty territorial over my Sundays. If my Friday/Saturday situation was a little too busy, I feel like I need to pack maximum relaxation into Sunday. Luckily for this Sunday Scaries situation I was entering the last day of my week-long staycation, so I felt like I could handle a full-ish Sunday and not try and stretch two hours of a Netflix binge into some sort of social commentary for the sake of word count.
I wake up far too early for a vacation Sunday. I consider going to yoga, but know it would be for the sake of looking balanced in this diary, so I skip it to keep it real and go back to bed.
I wake up — for real this time — make some coffee and settle on a time to meet my friend Sarah later in the afternoon. I debate doing laundry before starting all my activities but decide to just read for a bit instead.
I eat a bunch of cherries. Then, after realizing I had been a little too lazy on my vacation, I decide that I actually need to accomplish the ONE thing I said I would on this break and go and join my local pool. I look up the schedule to make sure I will actually be able to go during the week, figure out what documents I need to bring to sign up and feel like a real smart grownup.
I do some cleaning because my roommate is coming back from Nantucket and, in the four days I’ve been left alone, I have turned our place into Grey Gardens-lite. Unfortunately, in the middle of recycling a tower of La Croix cans, I get pulled into a text conversation with my friend Alaina about Alexis Ohanian’s vocal — but not performative — love of Serena Williams and stop cleaning.
I decide to walk to the pool and listen to the new Drake album to give all of the excellent tweets I’ve seen about him some context. I pack two books, a bunch of gum and a full water bottle for my journey up to Inwood after, where I’m meeting Sarah.
I get to the building and…can’t figure out how to get in? All of the doors appear to be locked so I walk around twice until I finally notice a tiny laminated flyer letting me know the BUILDING IS CLOSED TILL OCTOBER. Somehow in figuring out if I needed to bring a check or debit or whatever, I missed the memo that the thing closed for renovations in mid-May. So if you know of any affordable pool options in Brooklyn, let me knowwwwwww. Sigh. I should have gone to yoga.
I get to the A. I wait for the A. I step into the A. It is my home now.
Okay the ride wasn’t that bad! I switch between reading “Do Not Say We Have Nothing” and zoning out to the new Florence and the Machine album. I consider how my life needs more drama and floor-length dresses.
I am alone on the train for the last two stops, which is terrifying but also kind of nice. Moments of absolute solitude in NYC are hard to come by so I tried to focus on that for two minutes rather than feeling like I was in a horror movie.
I meet up with Sarah. The place we want to eat is cash only so we wander to the ATM. We then have a delicious lunch (with this hilariously poached egg), wait for our check for a lonnnnnnnng time and set off for the Cloisters.
You basically have to go on a mini hike to get to the Cloisters, which is lovely and hard when you’re full of bread. There are gorgeous views of the mighty Hudson and lots of cute families out and about. There’s also enough signage so that even the most directionally challenged (ME) can find it with ease.
Holy hell this is so much more breathtaking than I expected. The building, the gardens, the art and the Heavenly Bodies pieces are great. I fantasize about a life in which I need a unicorn tapestry.
I text with my roommate about giving the cat I was cat-sitting back to her friend. Sadly, the owner still wanted her back which means I will be catless once again.
Sarah and I leave the Cloisters and get into a long discussion about the old PBS series Frontier House as I almost get us lost walking the exact same way we came up. Despite my best efforts, I make it to the train station and we say our goodbyes.
I hop off at Jay Street to go pick up my MoviePass ticket for Sorry to Bother You since I’m afraid it’s going to be sold out. My friend Mike texts me as I’m on the escalator to say he already looked and it is sold out. I try to see if the theater is holding any tickets for real live humans and learn they are not. We make a plan to see the movie later at BAM instead; I run over to grab tickets just to make sure.
Home. Drink a ton of water. Eat some carrots and a handful of mini marshmallows. Check my email now in an attempt to make a post-vacation Monday less scary. Play with the cat I’m pet-sitting, try to take too many photos. She is deeply uninterested.
Head back out to meet Mike at Tacombi. Am running woefully late.
I’m catching up with Mike, who recently sustained an injury dancing stone cold sober on a table to “What’s Your Fantasy.” I am so enraptured with the best story ever that I barely notice that the movie starts in 10 minutes and none of my food has shown up.
It finally comes, I pay the bill and dash out with chips and guac in my purse, shovelling a cup of corn into my face as I run across the street. Feeling like a modern girl!
Sorry to Bother You is great and weird and wonderful. Lakeith Stanfield is great (also that particular brand of lanky weirdo is very much my thing) and Tessa Thompson wears a lot of no make-up make-up and I think I probably need to see it twice.
Say goodbye to Mike, hop on the train and head home.
I make a wish! (It’s astoundingly boring.)
11:15 p.m.: I take out the trash, brush my teeth, take a melatonin and slap on a sheet mask. Happy Sunday! Sorry it was so mundane. (Go see Sorry to Bother You!)
Graphic by Madeline Montoya.