what happens when you write a day?
lower case, because I am speaking quietly
November 11, 2025
What happens if you write about a day?
I don’t have to work today, which is a blessing. The weather is foreboding. The rest of the week is busy. Last week was busy. I hate going slowly, but evangelize its great value. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I wonder what happens if I do very little, quietly.
8:16
I am up and Gianni sleeps. It’s snowing in Manhattan, so morning coffee with Macy is off. Raincheck! Snowcheck. Let the warm animal of your body love what it loves, I say — which is half a joke. Though I don’t know which half.
I make coffee and eat a slice of bread with hazelnut butter and strawberry jam and Maldon salt. I always wake up hungry. On the counter, miso chocolate cookies from a batch we made last night. I have come to think of my meals as Feedings… ‘another feeding’, I often sigh to myself.
I read in bed next to him until he is up. I think about all the things to do.
10:31
Morning bath. This may sound strange, but it brings me great joy. I am out of salts, so I pour in lavender essential oil. I look up at the shower head: a tangle of eucalyptus I have arranged precariously, messy garland around spout. It always looks as if it’s about to fall, and often does. Crash of eucalyptus, but I’m in the other room.
Reading To the Lighthouse, which hurts my brain, which I respect. At a bar a couple months ago, my friend saw I was reading it and introduced me to a guy who loved it. I smiled and said “Isn’t it soo hard?”. Classmate vibes! He furrowed his brow, ‘I didn’t really think so’.
In the bath, I use this amazing Flamingo Estate tomato soap that Heidi sent me. I exfoliate and put on Wonder Valley body oil that Hannah gifted me last winter. My best friends, who keep me clean and soft :)
11:02
I recline to write, which feels so luxurious it’s uncomfortable—but it’s what Rosalía says she does, what she has to do. That masculinity is forced and that femininity, the divine kind, comes with softness and openness. I have been inspired by her lately, and I am impressed by her new album.
The song “Berghain” off of her new album, in which she sings in 13 languages, has a beautiful video that reminds me of what it is like to spend a day alone. The premise is that she goes about her day, but is surrounded by the London Symphony Orchestra, who play furiously. She is alone in a crowd. It feels recognizable because being alone can be so loud and you are surrounded, actually, by memories and ideas of what people think and even voices of people you know and love. Riding the bus, draping over the tub, eating a sugar cube, going to the doctor and the pawn shop — all alone, and with others. She whispers to nature in the middle of it all, hoping it finds its way closer. In the end, Bjork visits her as a dove.
Alone, surrounded… kind of what errands feel like. I have felt lately as if the only way to live well in New York City is to do the opposite of it, inside it.
11:49
Prepping vegetables for the week. Sandy kale :( Thinking of characters like they are people. I have been thinking about Polly, in Along Came Polly. Which is about buttoned-up risk analyst Ben Stiller pursuing a romance with messy, Manic Pixie Jen Aniston (2004). I last saw it when it first came out. When I watched it as a kid, I understood Polly was messy and flakey and non-committal. Watching it now, I find I respect her. Polly is not sure what she wants, but she is good-hearted and kind and knows how to dance. She has a charming apartment, great outfits, and keeps a healthy ferret. Her capacity for creativity is the only reasoning that validates her openness to entertaining annoying Ben Stiller. We are allowed only one look into her inner life, which helps us understand how and why she has moved so many times and done so many things. Of course, she would lose her keys, I think. She’s been through a lot. She protects her freedom with a kind ferocity – at least, that’s how Jennifer Aniston plays her.
12:04
I have been meditating for nine minutes every day. This feels both impressive and pitiful. It’s a new practice, and my affection for it grows. I will of course often add on, if there’s time, but something about sticking to some random progression of movements and breath for 9 minutes, every single day, feels very good for me.
The practices are based in Kundalini yoga. (Yes, Kundalini is the school from Breath of Fire documentary, so…that was bad.) But honestly, for me, the techniques are powerful and I am really grateful for them. They’ve got some stuff figured out.
Kundalini literature is filled with wild terminology. For example, they always call Kundalini ‘a technology’. This strange language of industry, all for the sake of the mystical. Jung did a great lecture on Kundalini in 1932, that I love going back to. I reread it when I need to legitimize myself, to myself.
1 ish
Writing, then walking. We go to lunch at Wei’s and have soup dumplings, fish, and bok choy. We are stressed from stuff that is happening on our phones, but nevertheless we are lol-ing. It’s so fun to go to lunch!
Gianni starts a sentence about Substack – I interrupt him before I even know where he’s going with it. I say: ‘Substack! I have no idea what to do about Substack’. I have too many ideas about what to do on here, and it’s so big that sometimes I get spooked. So many people on here are so quick with it all, which is impressive. I work at a different pace I think, and come up with something and then… the media cycle turns over. What to do? Either way, one must try. I am very interested in keeping the ball rolling. Rolling… where?
3
I take the G to do errands in Greenpoint. The G in the afternoon finds many people in whimsical-colored, nautical beanies. I find myself in a conglomeration of like… kind of corporate holistic stores, all the way up by the water. A pilates girl store, a ceramics store, another ceramics store, the tea store. I think of the tremendous purchasing power of young women. The wind howls, and I find myself beside the water. Everyone I pass looks terribly grim. I am a sturdy girl, but I feel I may blow away.
5:47
Back home, I have dimmed the lights to their very lowest and lit three candles. It is 5:47, but it is also 10:30 pm.
6:28
Another feeding. Parmesan cheese, golden raisins, crackers. Roasted zucchini with lemon. A woman who lives alone!
7:31
I am not going out tonight, which is feeling fab. More reading, some phone calls. Voice memos ping pong back and forth – some inverse version of the epistolary — though just as dignified — I like to think.
I watch Breaking Bad, which is bad for my psyche because — once again — the characters are real in my brain. I sigh, realizing that their happiness never lasts. Should Walt have ever even started cooking meth???? Ugh.
9:35
It’s dark for so long, so early! I feel like a pre-industrial woman. I have taken to wearing all white pajamas – something about waking up feeling clean…
Was this the most boring day in the world? Maybe — but it was certainly benevolent. For that, I feel lucky.
Drinking tea made of rose petals, reishi, oat straw. I do it reluctantly, and only because a tarot reader and Good Witch in New Orleans told me to last week, when the veil was thin. I have never been tea-oriented, but am always ready to start. This one tastes like dust and flowers.
What happens if you write a day? It passes the same, I think — but you know, for certain, when it’s done.