It’s 4:30 pm, and I’m just getting dressed. On the off-chance this looks as startling and a tad bit sad to you as it would to me, allow me to explain.
I make bagels. I am the bagel maker. I make certain that the baskets at the bagel store where I work stay overflowing with various culinary carbo-loaders for people who have clearly never heard of sleeping in. And I do this at 5 in the morning. I am not one to generally complain, but if you are one of the people waiting for the door to unlock at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, I ask you to ponder what has lead you to such actions. I digress.
At the wizened age of 20-something, I have what I would consider a highly complex and tragically mature understanding of the workings of the world. My first mistake. I’m graduating from bagel hell and undergrad in less than two months. Two months to accept the fact that there is no going back after this. Two months to get used to being very wrong about most things. Two months to buy a notepad and start taking notes on “How to Make it in the Big City and Life in General.” And here I am, sitting on my lofted bed in fuzzy pajama pants at 4:30 p.m.
While I have always had the habit of speaking in a declamatory fashion, I believe now might be the time to start putting words like “I think” or “maybe” at the ends of my statements. I should watch and listen more than I speak, try to learn from those around me, and believe those who came before me (I mean, they’ve “been there.”)
I should do all of these things. I should get out of these shockingly comfortable pants and into some jeans. But who ever does what they’re supposed to?