Alright, so given my current predicament, pretty much every day is a "simple" day. Regardless, this week started off on a high note because today (Monday) was a good, simple day. It was a good day because I managed to accomplish all the simple things on my schedule, with the addition of several surprises.
Being a jobless Los Angeles resident with a severely ravaged bank account means you basically have nothing to do. In Los Angeles, it's all about spending money. Bored during the morning? Go grab breakfast and a mimosa. Afternoon? Go buy something. Preferably lots of somethings. Bored in the evening? Pop over to that trendy bar and grab a few drinks with your exceedingly-expensive-yet-disappointingly-portioned dinner. At night? Take your Range Rover over to that club where everyone is dancing as if perpetually posing, trying to look good at any angle. So when you don't have the cash to do all of the above, an exciting day comes from getting things done and successfully keeping your hands from strangling your neck. This Monday was no exception.
My "to do" list slowly materialized in my groggy mind soon after rolling out of bed, and was fairly short. So short, in fact, that you couldn't really call it a "list" so much as a single chore: Go grocery shopping. But, lucky for me (and my sanity), this single activity required a few prerequisite steps. First off - clean the kitchen. If my mom stumbled upon post this she'd probably say something along the lines of "shouldn't it *always* be clean??", to which I would shrug half-heartedly and mumble something inaudible. And if she had actually seen the kitchen before step 1 took place, then I'd probably also be dodging her glares and shuffling off to some dark corner. Fortunately for me, no one else had to deal with the putrid disaster that was my kitchen, and so with a shirt covering my nose I set to work (...you don't even want to know). After thoroughly cleaning the rather threatening pile of crusty dishes sitting in my sink, I sterilized every visible surface with clorox and tried not to pass-out from the fumes. Two hours later, my eyes teared with the sight of a gleaming kitchen (and waning bleach vapors).
Step 2 - clean myself and go. This proved to be a bit of a challenge considering I 1.) ran out of shampoo, and 2.) had almost no clean laundry, and no laundry detergent. So, I made do with what I had available (nothing like re-wearing old underwear, I promise), and finally set off to the grocery store. An hour and a half later, I was stumbling into the building with 4 grossly overloaded cloth bags (eco-friendly!), and attempting to drag myself into an elevator before one or both of my arms detached. And there, sitting in front of the elevators, was Surprise #1 - a bedroom side-table. In the chaos of moving, residents of my beloved DuBarry are want to leave their unneeded possessions in front of the elevators rather than dragging them to a thrift store or throwing them out. Once they're there, it becomes finder's keepers for the other residents. My eyes lit up upon seeing this particular beauty (the top covered in some gunk, but nothing a little cleaner couldn't handle), because I was lacking in the side-table department. After a minute of weighting shifting and teeter-tottering, though, I realized that it would be impossible to carry groceries + side-table all up to the apartment at once. So, with the fear of some other resident discovering my perfectly visible buried treasure, I sprinted up five flights of stairs, threw my bags haphazardly through the door, and sprinted back down. Upon leaping down the last flight into the lobby, I realized I was still in luck. I had a side-table.
After hauling the table into the apartment and cleaning it off, I set out to put away my various groceries. The last item left was a box of new light-bulbs, which had been more of an afterthought at the store than anything else. On my first day in the apartment, I had discovered a light-switch by the front door that did absolutely nothing. And - totally unrelated - there was an overhead light in my little foyer-area that never turned on. Given the excitement of moving into my very own apartment, though, the light and switch drifted to some far-off place in the back of my mind...until about 6 months later. Now, standing on a stool, I unscrewed the glass lamp covering, replaced the bulb, and hopped down to flip the switch.
*click* Surprise #2.
It was as if someone has just turned on the sun in my apartment. Not only was the light-bulb brighter than any other light in my apartment, but it was probably using a quarter of the energy (one of those new-fangled swirly bulbs they done have now). I don't think I've ever been more excited about a light-bulb in my life. But the excitement wasn't over just yet - I had yet another new bulb, and the possibilities were endless (i.e. 5 other lights). In a burst of enthusiastic energy, I skipped into my bathroom and replaced the light over my sink. Hallelujah! For once, I could actually make out all of the features of the face staring back at me from the mirror. And I was finally relieved to find out that my nose was still in the same place (I kid...it had meandered behind my left ear).
Overall, the things that made my day a good one weren't too exciting compared to the staggering excitement-spectrum of life: a clean kitchen, more food, a new table, and light-bulbs. It was enough, though, to make me feel like I was productive and started the week right. And in the unemployed world, that's about as much as you can ask for.
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