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 Partnerships Strategist, Simedar Jackson.
I wake up in Westport, Connecticut at my friend Marina’s house. My frontal lobe is literally pulsating. I grab my phone to check the time. Way too early. Must sleep more.
My alarm goes off seemingly inside of my eardrum. Why did I set an alarm? Alarm dismissed and back to bed for just a little more shut eye.
The pool guys who apparently aren’t supposed to work on Sundays start drilling into the ground causing the entire basement as well as my brain to rattle around. I’m in one of those towns where people have pool guys (who am I?) and I’m now fully aware of the damage from yesterday. My arms hurt soooooo bad from some serious apple picking yesterday morning. My head hurts sooooo bad from being the life of the party at some Stamford bar last night (again, who am I?).
The drilling is non-stop. My wherewithal is crumbling. This was supposed to be a weekend full of family-friendly fun! Although I guess we ruined that as soon as we brought a flask into the orchard to spice up our hot apple ciders. My friends Renee and Eric are on the couch, also losing it, as we rehash last night’s shenanigans. It feels good to not suffer alone.
At some point during our talk, Eric went from complimenting the heels I packed to slipping them on and walking about. For a guy who doesn’t typically wear heels he’s rocking them pretty hard. I remind everyone that I’m recording my Sunday, which is already starting off horribly, and ask Eric to pose so I can capture this *content.* Suddenly, we’re desperately hungry, so we all attempt to get our lives together to go grab food.
We’re seated at the only diner in town, which Marina’s uncle happens to own. I’m scanning the menu for something non-dairy. I’m lactose intolerant, but have only been taking it semi-seriously in the last few weeks. This seems like the perfect opportunity to not force things down my gullet that my body will subsequently hate me for. Marina’s aunt comes over to chat and I muster up my last ounce of energy to resemble a normal human being who was not out the night before until an ungodly hour dropping it low to T-Pain.
I settle on stir-fry and matzoh ball soup and pray the kitchen works fast.
We’re on the train now. We almost missed it but came out on top with two minutes to spare!
Off the Metro-North! Now it’s time to lug all the apples, a half-gallon of apple cider, and other farm goodies we acquired into the second half of our journey that involves circumventing the L train because SOMEONE decided it was a good idea to shut it down for every weekend in October. I have so many choice things to say to the MTA, but my cranium hurts too much so I just sadly wait for the M train.
MY APPLE CIDER JUST EXPLODED! I realize that I ignored the label on the bottle and did not refrigerate the newly purchased bottle of fall deliciousness as instructed. I noticed the jug becoming increasingly rotund and not one minute after Renee assured me my cider baby would be fine, the cap blew completely off landing in a woman’s lap at the end of the platform much to her surprise. Now everyone’s staring at me. I sheepishly retrieve the cap from said surprised lady who has pushed it onto the ground. The train really can’t come soon enough.
After passing the jug around for everyone to have a taste test, we confirm that the apple cider is no longer fresh and must be laid to rest. Naturally, I’m devastated. In defeat, I take the closest seat on the train car and in doing so lose my grip on the two tins of lunch leftovers stacked in my arms. My tin topples over and spills a third of my stir fry everywhere. Renee’s food stays locked in place because she assembled her tin correctly and apparently the universe is after me today. Everyone who just watched my apple cider surprise is again staring at me as I try to sweep pieces of broccoli and chicken to the side. I’m cursing, and not very quietly, either.
This succession of minor inconveniences is coursing through my entire soul and has set off a Domino effect for my emotional state. Negative thoughts that have nothing to do with apple cider or stir fry and more to do with my work competency and overall personhood are dangerously swirling. Renee is doing a good job at being my best friend/roommate right now by deliberately talking about other things to get my mind off of what has turned out to be several “not my proudest moment” moments. I don’t think I’m doing this Sunday Scaries thing right!
Home. In my bed. I love you, bed. I’m never gonna stop loving you, beeeeed. I ignore the mountain of dirty laundry and things that need to be done and instead jump into a shower so hot it could burn the skin off most men. When I’m done, I call up my mom and slather on a face mask using this weird spatula thing from Sephora followed by this face oil from Circumference that smells like a crystal shop. Momma and I talk for an hour and a half about our weekends and a trip to Spain we’re planning for early next year. After said talk and lazy skin care routine, the bags under my eyes have subsided and I think I might have been reborn.
A friend of mine comes over to see the empty room in our apartment. She really likes the place and my roommates really like her! We agree on offering her the room and all feel really good about the decision. An emotional weight slides off my back like slime, leaving me in much better spirits.
Renee makes use of our orchard bounty and bakes an apple crisp with borrowed ingredients from everyone in the house. It tastes amazing!!!!!! My happy meter ticks up another notch. We lean further into spooky season and pop on Netflix’s new show The Haunting of Hill House, which both enrapturing and actually really scary. We stay there for more hours than we should before forcing ourselves to go to bed.
One episode of Bob’s Burgers to take the Halloween edge off and then I’m out like a light. I’ve lived too many lives today, but somehow am not that worried about tomorrow.
Photos provided by Simedar Jackson.