I met up with Caroline for dinner and a romantic walk through the Bryant Park shops last night.
I did all the things I shouldn’t have done. I bought earrings, drank wine, then Guinness and polished off an entire basket of chips and guac before demolishing a plate of pasta. We also tried on animal hats that we really want but couldn’t justify buying for ourselves…also…I think they are meant for children.
It was merveilleux.
Along the way we met a chatty girl from Jersey who happened to go to school in Boston. She talked – a lot. To be honest, I didn’t mind that much. I talk a lot, so I think I have a strange admiration for people who are able to talk more than I do. We walked through shops together and she gave us information about some awesome places to shop in the East Village, for clothes and apartment fixings.
OH, à propos, we got the apartment. Yes, I officially have somewhere to live and I’m practically jumping out of my skin to get there. I. can’t. wait.
So, amidst our romantic rendezvous we discussed writing and blogging – she’s an incredible writer – and she suggested I do the ’30 Days of Truth’.
Sounds therapeutic, I thought.
So, what exactly is it? Well it’s ultimately a list of questions that you answer truthfully. This isn’t truth or dare, it’s a bit more raw and honest than that. So I figured, why not check it out?
This one seems simple at first glance. But when I really think about it, I don’t like that I can sit down and eat an entire box of oreos in one sitting – but I don’t HATE that about myself. I don’t like that I pay $70 a month to go to the gym and there are months where I only make it like once a week if I’m lucky. But I don’t hate that about myself.
Hate is such a strong word, I don’t know if I really HATE anything about me. There are things I dislike, but HATE. That just seems so cruel, so cold, so…detrimental to my mental health.
I suppose if there was one thing that I really really dislike about myself it would be my lack of time management skills.
I have this severe difficulty being on time – I’m good for work, I
always , ok, most of time, punch in on time. That extra 7 minute window they give us to be late because of transportation is really nice and I wish they had never told me that.
Nothing seems to help, I’ve read books. I set my clocks way ahead. I set 3 alarms to make sure I’m going to wake up on time. Then suddenly I look up and I have enough to hop in the shower, throw on some clothes and make-up and run out the door. The only time my time management really kicks in is when I’m in extreme stress mode, or when I’m the leader in a situation. I like to be the leader, head honcho, mother hen, whatever. I like that sense of having people count on me to do a certain thing or be a certain way because it puts a pressure on me that allows my time management skills to rise up from the ashes of snooze buttons and, ‘I think I have time to sit down and watch a little television…’ (this is why I don’t own a television).
I think that part of time management is my memory. I am so forgetful. That’s it – that’s what I absolutely HATE. I forget things all the time! I write a list, I make a promise to myself, and then ten minutes later I forget, and I hate it. I’ll schedule my entire day and then when I wake up, I’ll just putter around and forget that I had all these plans like, Do Laundry, Go Grocery Shopping, Mail that Letter to Pam, Finish Reading that Book, Walk through Central Park.
Like is so short and when I forget shit, or don’t manage my time well I feel like I’m missing out. I end up stuck in my stupid sublet apartment doing nothing important or exciting all the while living in the middle of one of the greatest cities in the world. Can you believe that? I live in NEW YORK CITY and most days I just go from my apartment to work, to the bar across the street from work, then home again. Sometimes a gym moment is thrown in the mix too.
I HATE that. I HATE that I have such bad time management skill and am so forgetful that I feel like it’s making me lose precious moments of my time here in NYC and I have absolutely nobody to blame but myself and I don’t have any idea what kind of kick in the ass it’ll take to get my brain to wake the eff up and drag my stupid body with it to Bryant Park or Central Park or just a walk down the goddamn street!! Seriously. Hate. That.