My Morning Routine (Definitely No Jade Roller)
My morning routine doesn’t include a jade roller and an ice cold glass of alkaline water, as all the Goop ladies out there probably do.
I am not a Goop lady. I am a scattered yet ambitious real lady who washes her face with her hands and likes her coffee hot, no matter the season. (If you would like to read more about my resistance to doing things that are good for me, check out this post: Healthy Habits and the Raging Mob Inside Me)
Please enjoy a deep dive into my not-at-all meticulous process of waking up and doing things on an average day that goes something like this…
Wake up slightly before my alarm to the sound of my dog panting 11 inches from my face.
Pretend to be asleep for 4 to 40 more seconds.
Roll over and recount my dreams to my partner who very much does not care or is increasingly concerned about the circus that is my subconscious*.
Throw off the covers, return any pillows to the bed that I’ve thrown onto the floor in my sleep, walk half a step, then trip over the dog in the dark because he insists on guiding me everywhere, which is truly considerate during hours that are light.
Let the dog out, remind him to ignore the lizards because we are on a mission and the mission is pees and poos. Remind him of the mission in tones that vary from “baby talk” to “constipated drill sergeant” by saying things like “Go peepee potty. Go poopoo. Go.” Should the neighbors overhear my insistent announcements and choose to snoop on the ongoings of our backyard, they will get the unsightly surprise of me in my nighttime comfy undies, which are to be seen by no one.
Once the mission is complete, walk back inside, careful to slide the door open and closed as quietly as possible to allow my partner who wakes if the air temperature changes but one degree to continue sleeping.
Lay a dish towel on the counter to dampen any clanking and begin filling the dog’s food bowl.
Fill the coffee maker with grounds that I have whirred the night before (again, so thoughtful) and press the brew button that lights up in acknowledgement.
Berate myself for having done nothing of consequence to help Ukraine or Morocco or Hawaii.
Set the dog’s bowl down and begin packing my lunch for work, being sure to include a little treat like a cookie I baked over the weekend because adulthood is void of sweetness unless you pack it.
Watch the coffee pot out of my peripheral and hit the “off” button when the last bubbles of water have left the tank and just before it beeps sharply and ruins all my efforts to be nearly silent (still relatively loud).
Put the dog’s collar on and take him for a walk while wearing an outfit that can only described as “colorful.” I wear a wide brimmed hat and a yellow fanny pack. My blue tennis shoes are a daily staple and my shirt and shorts are various other colors because I wear whatever I grab in the dark and I would like provide my neighbors with something to talk about at bingo.
Return home from our walk around the block, then pour a cup of coffee and head to the bathroom to beautify. This can mean anything from darkening my eyebrows with brown eye shadow (because I cannot be marketed to) and putting my curls in a Gen-Z clip or curling my hair by using my straightener as a wand (again, so rebellious). I only take the time to straighten-curl my hair if it is too wild to be tamed with a clip or if I have a meeting that I care to look fabulous in.
Recall that one time in 7th grade I accidentally pantsed my own self in the hallway because I bent down to pick up a textbook at the bottom of my locker, stepped on the hem of my maxi skirt, and pulled it down as I stood back up, letting my sherbet orange Hanes meet the fresh air and the terrified gaze of my middle school peers.
Continue beautifying.
Scroll to select a podcast to play from my phone that rests on the counter.
Tap the phone screen every few minutes to check the time, because I truly cannot tell if 3 or 30 minutes have passed, then open the door for my dog who would like to express his dissatisfaction that I have been inaccessible for several minutes.
Apologize to dog for neglecting to include him.
Nod politely at myself in the mirror for pulling it all together, then carry my coffee and my podcast listening device to my closet where I set everything on a shelf and get dressed for work.
Walk back to the kitchen for breakfast and forget where I have placed my coffee and my phone.
Recall where I left my things, because I leave them in the same place everyday, then retrieve the things from the closet shelf and walk back to the kitchen to make eggs or oatmeal or cereal or place an order at my favorite coffee shop to grab a sammie before work.
Pack my workbag with my lunch and various beverages including water, coffee, and iced green tea so I can continue to function after 2:00PM, then head into the bedroom to say bye to bae and tuck the dog in next to him.
Grab my clanking bag and head out through the garage, where I stand with my hands on my hips as it opens in slow motion, as if I am Tom Cruise waiting heroically to dismount a military plane.
No I don’t, but I think about it every time.
Get in my car and have a quick battle with the windshield reflector accordion that does not like to go up or come down, then call my mother who is on her lunch break in the Eastern time zone to chit chat about our days. I tell her whether or not I saw a quail on my morning walk and she tells me about any bafflingly stupid phone calls she has dealt with thus far at work.
I pull into my parking spot at work, say bye to mom, don my lanyard and badge that I count as “jewelry,” and take a deep breath as I remind myself that I have a cookie for lunch.
Humbly yours,
Emily Rose // Miss Magnolia
*This weekend alone, I had a distressing dream hypothesizing what happened to the family at the end of the Painkiller series on Netflix and also dreamt about a “really good” business plan of a male strip club in Ireland called, ingeniously, Barely Clad Lads.
They were in kilts.
There were no undies.
I don’t know either.
I would like to Google this to see if it already exists, but also I don’t.
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