I read a post from Mary Hickey and it got me thinking, what do people think a day in my life is like? Like really, what do people think I do?
I’m sure, judging from my Instagram and Twitter, that it’s pretty much all delicious dinners, going on gorgeous press trips here, there and everywhere, having cuddles with my cat and crying over cystitis.
The truth is a little different.
Yesterday I had tinned soup and pitta bread for dinner, since moving to Metro.co.uk I’m basically a social recluse from PRs, my cat would rather blind me with her claws than show me affection, and I’ve only cried ONCE during this bout of cystitis. True story.
I thought I’d document a real day in my life. Unfiltered images and all. It’s proof that you really shouldn’t be jealous of anyone’s lives over social media, because Amaro and Valencia can make anything look pretty. Truth is, they’re probably leading just as a mundane and depressing existence as you are.
NOTE: It was really hard not putting a filter on anything. Like really hard.
I wake up. It’s ridiculously early, but I live an hour away from my offices in Kensington. So there’s that.
Put on an outfit that I have planned in my head the night before. None of my #ootd are thrown together last minute, they take a lot of daydreaming in the bath to come up with, a lot. I scoop my cat’s poo and feed her. She’s got litter sprawled across every inch of the kitchen. It makes me wish she lived outside. Then she bites and attacks my legs whilst I try and get ready. My leg bleeds, I shout and she continues to be aggressive towards me, her mother.
Then I do my make up and think about how I never get sent free make up any more and how unfair life is.
I get the bus to the station instead of walking the 12 minutes to the station. Even if it’s sunny and I’m wearing trainers. I’m lazy. And overweight. Don’t care.
I get two slices of toast and butter for breakfast. I don’t Instagram it.
I am on to my third cup of peppermint tea of the day because I am hungry and trying to fill a void. I can’t drink anything else because my doctor told me to avoid anything that will irritate my bladder. It rules out all tea, coffee, alcohol, fizzy drinks and juices with citric acid. I want to die.
I come on my period unprepared. I fight with the tampon machine in the ladies bathroom for about seven minutes. I lose. I have to go to the office nurse to ask for supplies. Then I have to hide said tampons in the waistband of my skirt in case any men see me and know that I have a menstral cycle and can produce babies.
I refresh my Twitter notifications for the 52nd time today. Nothing has happened. I get scared no-one thinks I’m interesting anymore.
I take an early lunch because dieting makes me extra hungry. I take back a jumper to H&M and exchange it for a pot in which to grow my new rose plant which I bought from Asda at the weekend. I try and post some ASOS returns in a normal post box in Kensington high street. It doesn’t fit. Everyone sees me try for about 3 minutes. I am embarrassed. I go back to my desk and eat tinned soup and mini Ryvita.
My eyes well up at my desk because I am hormonal and fed up of working weekends and I miss my boyfriend.
I have a meeting about SEO. There’s a free fruit basket, I eat strawberries, grapes and plums until I get a headache.
I get the tube home and start trying to think up good blog ideas. Hopefully some that are as exciting as this one. Funny joke, no?
Two trickles of sweat run down my leg and I hope no-one on the tube thinks I’ve wet myself.
Decide I’d quite like a yoghurt for pudding. Go into two newsagents, neither sell yogurt. One does sell 14 different Lloyd Grossman sauces though. Question the human race.
Get stuck in torrential downpour with no umbrella. Spend the entire walk home questioning whether my fedora hat is ruined forever.
Watch cat try and eat a honey-coated cashew.
Made a dinner I was immensely proud of. Avocado, celery, mushroom and chorizo salad topped with roasted peppers and goats cheese.
Feel like my life may actually be as exciting as it looks on Instagram.
Make said dinner with chopping board, frying pan and utensils that were picked out of the washing up pile and reused without cleaning.
Think about cleaning these areas of the flat. Don’t.
Start writing this blog post whilst watching Teen Mom 3 and picking the dry skin off my feet.
Check Twitter for 98th time. See I have gained 12 followers today. Think I may actually be interesting after all.
Try and take selfie with cat that has wandered into my bedroom. It is not my cat.
OK, not the actual end. I’ll watch the first episode of the new series of Teen Mom 2, have a bath, wish I had some chocolate and go to bed at approximatel 9.58pm.
Not such a glamorous life now, is it?