This Morning Will Be Different

This Morning Will Be Different

I already have long black skirts in natural fibers, and faux leather chokers with precious stone pendants. I have already grown my hair only so that I can tie it back with a thick rubber band. I spent an extra fifty dollars on clogs that look distressed. My brown sweater hoodie has a hole in the armpit. I put on an anklet. I will burn a tan around it. Not burn a burn, like always. I am ready.

I will listen to albums that are all drum and bass. The quality of the recordings will be so good that I will be able to hear the drummer – or, less ideally, the bassist – breathe. I will try to decide if the breathing is deliberate. I will try to decide whether it is part of the soul in creation, or a marker for the next measure of miracle. While I do this, there will always be a clear, sweaty glass of water in my hand.

I will generate dry cleaning, and I will take it to the dry cleaner. I will pay someone to change my oil and someone else to make my coffee. I will insist on soy milk in my coffee, which will also be half caff. I will walk around my neighborhood with a friend – no, a walking buddy. I will retile the patio and I will talk about nothing else for weeks. Instead of relying on one good recipe, I will make an assortment of mediocre baked goods. I will start taking ibuprofen three times a week, even if nothing hurts that ibuprofen would fix.

I will sew. I won’t finish anything I start. I will laugh about that. I will have one tote bag that is from an event that in theory, I might have attended. I will use the tote bag to carry things that aren’t outdated coupons and lists. I will figure out what those things might be, very soon.

I will stop looking at sad-eyed manchildren in black t-shirts and instead look at tired-eyed hard workers wearing any style of pants more flattering than pleated chinos.

I will eat breakfast at 6am every day. It will be cooked steel-cut oatmeal, and berries from the farmers market when they are in season. I will go to the farmers market every Saturday, after I finish my breakfast. I will pause at the raspberries and marvel at their warmth in the sun. I will further marvel that all of us expect them to be cold when they are in the grocery store. I will tell someone else this at least once a week, and no more than that. I will keep track of this with a subtle mark in my handbound day planner, to which I will refer at least twice daily.

While driving to the farmers market at 7am every Saturday, I will talk on my wireless handset, in violation of state law. If I can’t find someone to talk to that early in the morning, I will invent an eccentric friend in an artist’s colony in Taos, where it will be 4am. She will not have been able to sleep, she is so filled with inspiration. I will envy her. And I will sigh with that envy, so loudly that my wireless handset echoes from my mouth to my ear.

Read more about Erin here.

Read more about Scott here.


  1. Ethel Rohan says:

    Erin, I love this. Aside from the wonderful details and language throughout, the work taps into that universal desire to be better, our yearning and collective sigh. Excellent.

  2. Katie W. says:

    I too like this very much. Hits home to all those little pretensions that I have as I yearn to be something special.

  3. EA says:

    Wow. This piece really struck me. I enjoyed it tremendously, except for the part when you thought the drums were more ideal than bass, not true. You had a nice voice throughout, almost Foster Wallace-esque.

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