i don’t know if it is because of the lackadaisical lifestyle that la is, but this la < nyc transplant, feels that my humble abode is missing something. an elevator.
i live in a five story walk-up. i know, it could be worse. every single day, at least twice a day, i walk up and down five flights of stairs. each flight is 16 stairs. you do the math because frankly, i’m too damn tired because i just counted all those stairs.
as if you don’t walk enough, or up and down enough stairs living in new york.
when the news was broken to me that there was no elevator, five flights honestly didn’t seem that bad. but after a 10hr day of standing, trust me it is the last thing i want to do. i usually make it to the fourth floor without any problems. some days, when i’m hauling laundry up or groceries, or just feel completely drained from work, i’ll slow down at the third floor. pathetic i know. trust me, it is a constant reminder that i am out of shape and that i probably shouldn’t have had those 2ounces of chipotle-vinaigrette on my salad at lunch. *fact: there is 260 calories in the vinaigrette alone. ugh.
but today, it was different.
before i knew it, i got my key ready to open the front door to my apartment, and when i looked up, i had completely walked past my fifth floor apartment all the way up an extra flight of stairs to the next floor which is the roof.
i contribute this ghastly error to still having on my headphones (moth’s wings by passion pit was the song a playing), as well as laughing while reading the snail mail i received from Lucy.
so the key is, must always have good tunes playing while making the journey up the five flights. total bonus if reading something funny.
so all you all, keep the post office alive and feel free to send me some snail mail.