At 6:30 am, I wake up to the sound of my alarm I have become so accustomed to. I go on my phone, and my finger presses Instagram without my brain even processing it. I know I shouldn't be on social media this early in the day, but it has become a part of my routine. After 10 minutes of hopeless, degrading wandering and scrolling, I get up to prepare for the day.
I get in the shower, making sure not to get my hair wet. I bathe in my vanilla scented products everyone seems to recognize me by. I dry myself with my pink towel that has my initials embroidered, and walk over to my closet. I pick out my pink work skirt, white shirt, pink blazer, and pink heels. I sit in my vanity and start to do my makeup.
Minimal amounts of foundation, to not appear fake, but also not look quite real. The right amount of mascara to bring out my green eyes everyone compliments me on. Light eyeshadow and blush, to give into the phrase "more is less" people love to relate to makeup. And my clear lip gloss, to not overdo it. I used to love makeup. It was one of my favorite pastimes. The fun, blue eyeshadow and fierce, red lips made me passionate. I don't know when I went from that to what I do now.
Now onto my hair. I look through my drawers and find my pearl headband. The one I have worn on so many failed attempts at first dates, to so many job interviews, and family occasions. I put it on, slicking back my thick, straight hair. Finally, there's jewelry. I typically don't change much, but today I was in a good mood. I put on my graduation ring on my right hand, my necklace my parents gave me on my 15th birthday, the earrings I've had since I got into college 8 years ago, and, to change it up, I added a pearl choker and bracelet to match my headband.
When the portrait of a girl I have somehow become finally looks good enough to leave, I step out of my bathroom. I check the time, 7:30 am. Shit. Shoot. I'm late. I grab my purse and run out the door, leaving without having had breakfast. I guess this isn't so bad, I've been needing to lose weight anyways.
I attempt running to the bus stop, which can be very difficult with heels. Luckily, I don't miss my bus. I walk up the steps and pay the driver while giving him a nice smile. I look around while finding a seat to find only one other person on the bus; from what I can tell, she is a mom also making her way to work. I guess the fear of getting raped, groped, assaulted, or killed can be pushed aside until the drive back later today.
On the drive to work, I never take out my phone. My mom has always told me that I need to be alert at all times because danger may come from anywhere. I don't remember her ever telling my brother this, I must have forgotten.
When we finally reach my stop, I get up and walk out, making sure to wave and smile to both the other passengers and the driver while doing so. Although the next stop would drop me off right in front of the office, I get off on the one before it to grab the coffee for my coworkers and I. I'm not a secretary, but this task has been assigned to me. I didn't question it. I order everyone's coffee, my words coming out like a song I've known my whole life. Three years of buying the exact same 6 coffees can do that to you. It almost makes me feel like a robot. I hear the barista yell out, "Order 13! Order 13!". I stumble to pick up my order and push the door open while walking backwards since my hands are now full. I walk the three blocks needed to reach the office.
My coworkers are also barely arriving and take their coffees. None of them thank me, except Lina, my best friend, who makes it her mission to loudly say "thank you" everyday to try and get the others to follow her lead. They never do. And I never do anything about it.
I head to my desk, set my blazer on my chair, and get settled in for the next eight hours. I instantly get to work, continuing with what I had been doing yesterday. My desk neighbor arrives thirty minutes late, with no excuse, but nobody says anything. This is a typical Tuesday morning for him. Once, when I was five minutes late, my boss threatened to fire me and called my behavior "inexcusable" and "unprofessional". I had been late since the barista had taken longer than usual, but when I tried to say that, he shut me down. I was let off with a warning after apologizing and promising that it would never happen again. Three years later, it has not happened again. I don't pay attention to it and continue working.
Four hours later, it's finally lunch time. I see the food my male colleagues bring in awe: if I brought that, I would be judged. I eat my usual salad, my first meal of the day, at my desk while continuing to work. Sometimes I eat with Lina, but we both prefer to get work done at this time. Other times, I listen in on my coworkers conversations. The men tend to all eat together at one of their desks, talking about everything, without having a care about who's around. I've heard them flaunt how many women they have slept with, describe what they would do to different female celebrities if they had the chance, and how much money they make. I hold a higher position and am more dedicated than most of them, but somehow still make less than all.
After lunch, we all continue working. I finish all my work about an hour early. I used this time to pack up my things and get ready to leave. On the short walk to the restroom, I can feel the eyes of my desk neighbor analyze every part of me. He once invited me out for dinner and I accepted, not noticing what it was he really wanted. I haven't gone out or had a full conversation with him, or anyone from the office, since.
Walking back, I stop at Lina's desk to ask if she has plans for later tonight. She does, but reassures me we'll go out together soon. "We probably won't, we never do and you always say the same thing" is what I think, but I only nod and smile before making my way back to my desk.
When it's finally time to leave, I put on my blazer, grab my bag, and head out to wait at the bus stop. After a fifteen minute wait, I walk into the bus, pay the driver, and see how full the bus is. I consider taking a different bus, but my eagerness to be at home watching TV convinces me to stay. With there being no empty seats, I hold on to the rail and stand in front of a tall man in a red sweater and baggy jeans. I try to place my purse in between us, but he keeps moving it and touching me. This makes me very uncomfortable, however I don't say a word. When I did speak up, I was called a dramatic liar, and was forced to apologize to the guy for "wrongly" accusing him of assault. They said it was "normal touching" since the bus was packed. Now, I do my best to try and prevent situations like this without causing an uproar, but it can be hard at times.
I get off a stop early to try and misguide the man in case he wanted to follow me. To my relief, he didn't. I walked the last five blocks home. I unlocked my door and started my after-work routine. I first made my way to the kitchen to make myself dinner and wash the dishes I had taken to work. I then went to my bathroom and started to get unready. I placed my clothes in my laundry hamper and got in the shower. I washed my hair, my body, and tried to clear my mind of what had happened in the bus. Yes, it has happened to me before, but that does not make it any more enjoyable.
I make sure to shave every part of me because it's what I've always been told I must do. I use different scrubs and lotions to make my skin soft because that's how it should be. I get out of the shower and pick out my prettiest, laciest bra to go along with my prettiest, laciest underwear. I thought I could at least do this for myself, it's not like anyone is going to see it. I put on my striped pajamas and go to the sink. Here, I start to put things on my face. I don't really know what they are for, but I use them anyway since I see so many other girls do it. I apply a cream, then a gel, then another cream, then some serums: I'm not really sure if I'm doing this right, but it makes my skin feel smooth. This is my favorite part of the day. I don't really know what I'm doing, but it's something I enjoy and do for me.
To finish off my beauty routine, I wait for my hair to finish drying before I start styling it. I take out my straightener and heat protectant spray. I plug the straightner into the wall. While it's heating up, I take out my phone and play music. I have many different playlists and choosing which one to listen to depends on my mood. Some days it's Britney. Other days it's Avril. Today was a Taylor Swift kind of day.
Once it is done heating up, I apply the heat protectant and start flattening my honey brown coils. I have always loved my curly hair. I would wear it out if I could, but my mom and most of the people in my life have always told me that straight hair looks so much better. They have described it as "more clean" or "more put together" or "shinier", so I have been straightening my hair daily for about two years now. This has caused my curls to become damaged, but it isn't really noticeable once it's straight.
After an hour and a half of my arms getting sore from styling, I go to bed and turn on the TV. It's around 8 pm, so I'll probably get three or four episodes in. When the episodes are finished, I turn off the TV and read a bit of my book. I have grown so used to this routine, I rarely think about sharing this bed with someone. I have been very careful with the selection of the few to whom I have allowed this: I don't want people getting the wrong impression. So now, I only dream of having a romance like the ones I read about. One with a boy who is himself and doesn't let others change him. A boy who is respectful to me and everyone he encounters. Who is willing to hear my thoughts and process them, but is also willing to share their thoughts and feelings having the confidence of knowing that I would not judge them. All I want and dream about is one day having a good guy to call mine, but everyday this dream seems to leap further from the reach of my hands.
I close my book and fall asleep with these pictures in my brain. I visualize dates and hanging out with this "good guy", but I eventually get hit with the realization that, in this world, finding a guy like that is close to impossible and will only be real in my mind. So, with my eyes shut, I drift off to sleep ready for a new day.