You live in London? That’s amazing. I envy you.
Yes, I envy myself as well when I wake up in the morning, grab a quick coffee (from my kitchen, I don’t afford take-away pretty cups of coffee to be posted on Instagram) – I need to reinforce something: Starbucks, your pumpkin latte tastes like shitty, cheap soap – and run to work.
It used to take me 1 hour to get there, after 8 months I managed to shorten it to 45 min, always with the risk of being late. After 12-14 hours, take the late trains and go home. Sometimes you miss the last train, so you need to take a night bus, which is thrilling, creepy and tiring. A few hours later, you crawl into your house and decide if you have enough energy to eat something or you should spend whatever is left to take a shower, brush your teeth and faint in the bed. In 6 hours you need to be up again.
And then you have your days off. Most of the time, the government controls the weather, so whenever you have some time off, is raining. (joke, haha, laugh) . So you decide to spend the time inside and all those pictures in nude colors, with hot chocolate mugs on the window sill make you feel like you’re the luckiest person in the world. But then you check the milk in the fridge and it’s off, it doesn’t matter, you don’t have hot chocolate in the house anyway. And you’ve just seen the sink and it’s full of dirty dishes, the laundry basket can’t take another blouse, the room is a mess and there’s no toilet paper in the bathroom.
It’s ok. I’ll go shopping. I’ll clean the house a bit and then enjoy myself. Maybe I’ll cook. Let me check some recipes. This looks good. Make a list. After 3 hours, you’re at home, your back is killing you, but is ok. Light a cigarette and sip from that Coca Cola, left from yesterday. Fuck, I forgot to pay the rent. Go back in the rain. It’s not that far.
I’ll start with the kitchen. Clean, clean, clean. A few hours later you give the hallway the last sweep. You’re done. Fuck again, you didn’t do any laundry, but at least the bathroom smells nice. Put some clothes in the washing machine and start cooking. Something fast. An hour later, your friend comes home from work and you freeze up: it can’t be that late. It is. You get pissed and open a beer. Maybe a second one. And you decide to watch a movie. You take a quick shower and you’re in bed.
6 hours later, you realize that you haven’t done your hair, nails, eyebrows and whatever involves being a girl. It’s ok, tomorrow you’re off again. And you promise yourself that you will capitalize the time different.
Which usually means I need me time, so you eat 1 pound chips and chocolate, whilst not moving your skinny ass out of bed. At 6 o’clock you feel guilty, so you decide to get active. You’re gonna clean that kitchen until it shines. You’re out of toilet paper again.
To be fair, not all days off go like this, but most of them are. I guess London is amazing, when you are in holiday and you just have to fill your days with visits at museum, wander around Soho and take pictures of amazing street artist. Because the rent is not hanging over your head. But there’s a huge difference between your FB profile and your real life. Remember that.