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The Ever-So Cliché Diary of a Twenty Something

A delay in the train, a fall on the way to a closed pub, and a fateful search on Apple Maps.

I don’t know what I am doing

I am 24, broke, home-of-my-own-less (AKA splitting time between my parents house and my boyfriends apartment in Chicago), and unemployed.

My boyfriend kissed my cheek at 4 this morning so I could try the new coffee creamer we bought at Target last night with him before he left for work. I took a sip and despite the fact that the new creamer was, in fact, as delicious as I had hoped, all I could think about was how I had no idea what I was going to do today.

Everything has been so wide open for me lately that instead of feeling free I’ve been feeling swallowed; like maybe all this open space is actually just the belly of a blue whale and I am minutes away from being digested into tiny, broke, blonde, bits.

I decided to go back to my parents. I missed my cat, Chonk, who I have been told may have managed to somehow catch himself a case of fleas despite being an indoor baby. I felt like a shit mother for leaving him at my parents.

A little past noon and I started to make my way over to Mayfair Metra station. I turned on maps in the hopes of feeling less lost.

“The Milwaukee North Train to Fox Lake is delayed due to mechanical issues,” greeted me as I stomped up the rotting wood stairs.

I sat on a bench in the shade and began to scroll on Tik Tok. I couldn’t help but think to myself, is it bad I can’t even hold my attention long enough to just sit here and listen to music anymore?

An older woman asked to borrow my phone to inform her manager she will be late in to work because of the delays. She was the type of old woman you’d be hard pressed to stop yourself from helping cross the street.

After she dialed in, I sat back down on the bench and closed my eyes as the cool September breeze wafted by. Maybe I will just listen to music, I thought.

Got close to some epiphany, I’ll convince a friend to join the deep ends, Have your toes touch the lack of cement…

Clairo playing felt right for that moment.

But, Mia, WHY are you writing this on Substack?

Well, my dearest, dearest, reader. I am getting there! Do not worry.

As I sat there and let Clairo whisper in my ear, free will suddenly dawned on me. The train delay was growing faster than the sweat stain on my back.

I had all my stuff with me. This included my laptop - I could go somewhere and apply for jobs. That is what I had been telling my mother I was doing all weekend anyways.

I wished the older woman luck and off I went, scurrying to cross the tracks just before the train going south arrived.

Sun in my eyes, wind in my hair, and Royel Otis’ rendition of Linger by the Cranberries in my ears: I was suddenly feeling a sneaky sense of confidence begin to creep in.

Silly me.

About 4 minutes and three blocks later the universe reminded me confidence was only for people who had their lives together. I tripped. Hard. Really, super, obnoxiously, in front of a few (but too many) people, tried to recover and absolutely did not, type HARD fall.

As I sat on the ground trying to play off how much that bruised both my body and ego, I truly felt like shaking my fist movie style and yelling WHY up at the sky.

The whole scene was ever so fitting for the place I was at in life.

The pub ended up being closed.

Willing myself to see this turn of events as a twist of fate instead of a devastating afternoon for my self esteem, I looked up other pubs and coffee shops nearby and found one I had been eyeing the other day. It was a coffee shop, newspaper, and book store combo. Very up my alley.

Clutching my cut up, sweaty hand and a Longchamp purse I impulse bought because someone told me they were trending in Paris, I walked two blocks and made it to the destination.

The store smelled exactly like a news shop. I loved it already. Magazines everywhere, old books, new books, all surrounding a counter covered in house made truffles, baked goods, and a coffee machine.

I ordered the berry sweet black tea and signed up for the rewards program (I knew I would be returning). I sat down at a counter seat, plugged my 2018 MacBook in and waited for it to reboot - since apparently 6 years old is too old to function properly for a computer these days.

My playlist had made its way to Right Side of My Neck by Faye Webster.

The right side of my neck, still smells like you…

I sigh. Shit. I don’t want a job.

Well really, I don’t want these jobs, the ones whose applications are supposed to be the reason I am now here at this coffee shop.

So what?

Asking myself the same. Damn. Thing. So then, WHAT? What do I actually want?

Maybe it’s the presence of so much print, or maybe it’s just the ambiance of a small, quirky business, but my mind decided then and there that the answer to that question Substack. I don’t even know what Substack is - I just heard someone mention it on social media.

F*

ck. It. I guess I am starting a blog.