Early Morning - When I woke up to the sound of fat rain drops pelting against my bedroom window, I thought of a lie my mother once told me. She said it was just angels urinating, generously sharing their celestial discharge with us earth-dwellers. To the six-year-old me, it made total sense. The rain in Bangkok was kind of briny just the way I imagined angels' pee to taste like. Little did I know it was actually acid rain.
I got out of bed, then thought about walking across the street to get some coffee and see that adorable barista, but that also meant I would have to shower, make myself look presentable to the general public, then spend $3 on something I could as well prepare at home. Remaining unenthusiastic and unbathed, I resorted to stalking him on Instagram. If my husband walked in and saw me smiling at my phone, I would quickly switch to the photo of a Pug wearing goggles.
I made myself some coffee, ate Chobani Flip, then negated all the health benefits of Greek yogurt by ending my meal with a cold old donut. But before I did all that, I was sure to snap some pictures of my food like a compulsive shutterbug. The idea that my social media followers might not want to know what I was eating was simply ludicrous.
Mid-Morning - I confronted the tall stack of The New Yorker magazines that I was supposed to read months ago. I went through them one by one, reading only Shouts & Murmurs (aka the humor section) and skipping all the other articles about politics, science, social issues, arts, or anything that would remotely require deep thinking. Half way through the magazine tower, I found the hilarious article "Official Agenda for Your Sick Day," in which the writer chronologized and described trifling things she did on her day off. It sent me into a laughing fit, and within a short lapse of time, an acute depression. The fact that some people were making big bucks writing funny nonsense and I wasn't just pained me. I proceeded to curse myself for being a mediocre writer and juvenile blob. But soon enough, I found comfort in motivational memes, recited some positive affirmations, and completely forgot that my mediocrity was still there.
Afternoon - My lunch consisted of things my Thai compatriots would normally eat for breakfast: plain rice soup, pickled mustard greens, and pork fu, also known by other names like pork floss, candied pork, flossy pork and meat wool, all of which sounded horridly unappetizing. I decided it wasn't too early for a glass of wine. In fact, I kind of needed it, as I was about to watch a marathon of true crime documentaries. The thought that I was using others' tragedies as my source of leisure made me pause and question whether I had anything more dignified to do. The answer was yes, and yet, I chose not to obey my conscience. For hours, I was mesmerized by Keith Morrison's dramatic cadence as he untangled each murder mystery. Yes, he is old and wrinkly and obviously can't coordinate his jacket and pants, but this man knows how to hypnotize people with his voice. He can say "Oh my!" much more sensationally than George Takei, and make "gluten-free quick oats" sound very naughty.
Early Evening - My mother called me from Bangkok to vent her fury. It was 7 pm here, so it must have been around 9 am over there. How could she get all worked up that freaking early? The legal dispute between her and my uncle over an inheritance was getting out of hand. Objectively speaking, I find neither of them to be likable. One suffers from self-induced paranoia, and the other shows advanced-stage symptoms of narcissism. But well, one of them had given birth to me. So, reluctantly, I ended up siding with the paranoid.
Bedtime - My husband was inconsiderately snoring while I laid awake planning a blog post. It would be suffused with trivial, non-praiseworthy, and overly honest accounts of my day, similar to those in "Official Agenda for Your Sick Day." But unlike that writer, my unproductive behavior wouldn't be influenced by an illness. I would be just as idle and miserable and ridiculous as she.......but without a good reason.