Nellie

Morning

I wake up an hour before my alarm. Awesome! Still in bed, I read an article about deepsea internet cables. I wrote a poem about these cables last year. In the article, there’a a paragraph that seems like it’s taken right from my notes. Am I unoriginal? I consider the possibility for a few moments.

The article is about workers who have to travel far out to sea to repair these cables when they get damaged by earthquakes or whatever else happens at the darkest depths of the unknowable ocean. I spiral a bit thinking about ever-worsening natural disasters and the people who have to put themselves in danger to keep our computers sending emails and selling stocks. (I’ve been watching a lot of HBO’s Industry lately.)

I exit the spiral and get ready for the day.

Day Begins

I miss the subway by mere seconds FOR THE SECOND DAY IN A ROW but I learned from my mistake yesterday and didn’t sprint down the steps only to have the doors close in my face. Such humiliation. But then again, there’s the paradox of never knowing if you would have made it if only you had gone for it whole hog. I wonder if everyone who takes the 9:09am Northbound BSL now sees me as a pitiable background character in their lives. Am I too self-obsessed?

The train spits me out at Cecil B. Moore. On my walk to “the office” — which is not an office at all but a closet-sized meeting room that our union occupies daily as our unofficial workspace — I stop at Richie’s for an iced coffee. It’s pretty good.

Mid-day

For my job as a staff member for the Temple University Graduate Students’ Association, I wear many hats, but most of these hats involve writing in Google Docs. Sometimes, Google Sheets. Type type type, screen screen screen. For breakfast, I eat an apple that I packed myself and it feels like a monumental success. Our newly-elected secretary comes by to work on the TUGSA newsletter and I show him how to log in to Mailchimp and plug things into text boxes. It’s pretty rewarding. Could our Paleolithic ancestors have possibly imagined the circumstances that their progeny would find delight in?

Everyone else is off campus at the GET-UP rally today so I decide to go do my work in the library. After two painfully-beautiful spring days, today is cold and cloudy and it’s starting to rain. When I settle in, I am sat across from some undergrads. One sneezes and I fail to make the split-second decision to say “Bless you,” missing my chance forever.

My boyfriend comes to campus to do work before his night class. He’s left his laptop charger at home so we experiment with multiple combinations of USB ports, portable battery packs, and my meager USB-C headphone charger before accepting defeat. We sit on kind-of-soft couches in the library while he looks at his phone.

I use this time to work with more intention on my entry. When Molly texted this morning to ask if there was anyone to take over for today – Today! Wednesday, April 17th! – it seemed like a good fit. My original slotted entry was going to be July 30th, one day before I’d be moving out of my house. I thought that might be kind of sentimental and romantic, but also stressful. Today seems appropriate because it is shaping up to be like any other day. What a gift is the present!

How dull-appropriate, too, that today is a day at Temple. The first time I stepped foot on this campus was in the summer of 2021 for my MFA orientation. Walking around, I couldn’t help but feel…alienated? It was so unlike my first day of undergrad, overcome with terror and hope. We were still fully online, so all the vestiges of a thriving campus life remained shuttered. It was like being in a thrift store: I knew all of this stuff was probably very meaningful to other people but it meant nothing to me. As a graduate student and further as a member of the union that was in extremely ugly negotiations for the majority of my two-year program, I never really developed a loving connection to the place.

Yet, here I am, tied to it. Grateful to be employed doing something I love, in a city that I develop a deeper fondness for every day, typing away beneath the sublime, sweeping architecture of Charles Library.

Happy Hour

My subway home is yet again pulling in right as I get to the station, but thanks to the Phillies fans crowding in on their way to NRG, the doors stay open long enough for me to make it in.

As I walk home, I do something I’ve considered doing many times but that I finally have the motivation for. I slip into Solar Myth, the beer-espresso-vinyl lounge in the space formerly occupied by the Boot and Saddle.

The bartender is kind enough to still give me the Happy Hour price at 5:59pm. I sit and sip a Pilsner and learn from the bartender that the album I’m so enjoying is called Sweet Sweet Dreams.

Day’s End

I put a weird combination of flavors inside a tortilla and call it dinner. At 8pm, Survivor comes on and I watch with my roommate (whose A Year in Philly post you can look forward to in December). I’m shocked to find myself rooting for Charlie, a law student who seemed like a Libertarian when he first got introduced.

When the show ends, I go upstairs to finish packing for my trip to Chicago tomorrow. I always get anxious before trips, no matter how short. I’m sure I’ll be a bit on edge until I touch back down in Philly on Sunday. I like knowing there’s always a way for me to get home.