What Windows Do

I owe a lot of the last few weeks of my life to east-facing windows.

Specifically, the east-facing windows in my bedroom.

In the morning, when I wake up at 5:45 to get ready for work, the sun has already risen.  Outside, the birds are chirping.  There’s no sun to watch rise, because it’s already risen.  It might as well be 9:30 on a November morning.

As a result, two things: one, I had to buy one of those eyeshades to keep myself from waking up at 5 on the weekends.  And two, my circadian rhythms are all thrown off, and now my body thinks that it’s always daytime and I should always be awake and I should never be tired.

It’s fantastic.

Something has shifted in me with the advent of a Chicago summer.  I go on dates with boys.  I go out to bars with friends and stay for hours and have more than just one drink.  I let myself stay up past eleven.

I’m not being irresponsible, but I am having fun.  Fun is something of a new concept.

In college, I did well, I made friends, I had a good experience.  But I was almost always the good kid.  Now I’m trying to let myself go a little bit.  So I haven’t been running in over a week.  So what?  I’ve been traveling and socializing, which are healthy in their own ways.  My calluses can be built back up later.  Plus it’s a million degrees outside right now.  So, I don’t have to run, and I don’t have to feel bad about not running.

So what if I only sleep four or five hours a night?  I’m not going to look back on the nights I was out with my friends, laughing, having a ball, and wish I’d gone home a little earlier, slept a little longer.

I spent the first nine months of my time in Chicago going to work, going to class, coming home, and being good.

And I suppose I’m still being good.  But I’m living a little bit more.  I’m less worried about doing everything exactly right.

The life that exhausted me a few months ago seems hopelessly boring to me now.  I want to be outside with a bunch of people, just enjoying things.  Anything.  I’m 24, and have decided that being 24 is the very best age to be.

Thank you, east-facing windows, for giving me a wonderful start to my Chicago summer.

Things That Are Hardcore: WHITE TIGERS

Today was an extraordinary day.

I always feel better when I’ve accomplished something significant—in comparison to times when I relax and maybe take care of myself but don’t get much done—and today I’ve been able to do both.

After a morning of kettlebells, buying fun groceries like smoked salmon and whipped cream cheese, and picking up my pants at the tailor’s, and making myself a delicious brunch, I packed up my notebook and my voice recorder and headed to Navy Pier.

Despite my reasons for going to Navy Pier, I was feeling good.  I’d gotten some exercise.  I’d made myself French toast with real maple syrup.  I’d even made my bed, and making my bed always makes nighttime so much more inviting.  (I may have mentioned before that while I’m 24 chronologically, I am much, much older in my head.  At least two decades older.)

Anyway, the trip was prompted by the fact that I desperately needed a story for my first magazine article assignment.  (See the story where I fainted for the full scoop on my anxiety regarding saying words out loud to other people.)  I’d seen an ad for a Royal White Tigers exhibit at Navy Pier, and figured it’d be a good spot for a story.

I was also just psyched to see some white tigers, because I love tigers.  They look like giant kittens and I want to snuggle them.  Did anyone see We Bought A Zoo?  OMG.



When Matt Damon looks in the mrror, he probably sees a tiger anyway.

And somehow, guys, I did it.  I made it through the tigers exhibit, got three people to talk to me AND provide their contact information, and got enough material for a decent story.  I talked to two of the men staffing the tiger enclosures and talking to the people coming through, and I snagged a few lines from a middle-aged lady who was there with her two nieces.

Bless kind-hearted people who take pity on an anxiety-ridden grad student.

And bless Gita and her one-year-old cub Kozmo, for being WHITE TIGERS and being SO AWESOME that hundreds of people come to see them every day.

Here are some things I learned about tigers today:

They eat raw meat, and they can’t digest anything else.

They can’t purr.  (Isn’t that a tragedy?  The sound of a purr is a wonderful thing.)

They have gorgeous fat paws.    

Finally, white tigers are extinct in the wild, but they’re going to be released back soon.  So take care of the environment and say no to poaching.

Because tigers are snuggly, adorable, badass kittens.  And they have significantly decreased my anxiety.



You so cute, you killer cat, you.

First-World Problems, I Guess

So I may have mentioned before that I have a hyper-developed guilt complex.  Guilt, guilt, guilt.  I feel bad about everything.  I feel responsible for things that aren’t my fault.  I feel bad for things that no one else will ever, ever care about.  It’s so fun!

The latest object of my guilt is the fact that I live in this beautiful and amazing city and don’t really go out all that much.  I could probably count the number of restaurants I’ve been to in Chicago on one hand.  I haven’t really explored much other than my own Lakeview area and the Loop.  (Bucktown?  Wicker Park?  What?)  And it’s super embarrassing that with all my history in dance and music, I have not been to one dance concert or music concert in this city.  No theater, no nothing.  I’ve been to some poetry readings in someone’s apartment and that’s it.

There are legitimate reasons, I guess…money is a big one, since you need a lot of it to go to concerts and plays.  Time is another.  And then there’s that whole “I don’t have anyone to go with” issue, which is probably just an excuse because lots of people go to things by themselves.  I think.

This weekend I have absolutely no plans, and I’m completely exhilarated by that fact.  It’s like…I GET TO SLEEP AND SIT ON THE COUCH AND WATCH TV!!!!!

Ew.  I don’t recognize myself.  And I feel like, as a Chicagoan, I should be going out every night and doing amazing, exotic things. 

It’s Saturday night.  What am I missing?

Blue Man Group?

Second City?

I’m sure one or two pop stars are here tonight.

Probably some famous comedians.  Or at least really funny ones who aren’t famous yet but will be.

A symphony, a choir.

ICE SKATING.

I was watching the news and Jason Segel was here tonight, so whatever.

And here I am, doing things I could do in any small town in the US, getting excited by things like Command strips and cleaning supplies.  Baking muffins from scratch and being like OOOOH, LOOK AT THIS NEW LAUNDRY STARCH!  IT SMELLS SOOOOO GOOD!  LET’S IRON!  IRONING IS SO FUN!!!

Yeahhhhh.

Oh, and I spent 9 hours putting together my IKEA dresser last week, by myself, and it was perfectly blissful.

Before.

After.

What is wrong with me?  It’s like I got old.

(And I’m not kidding about Command strips.  They are the shiznet.)