This week will mark one month since I've moved to this city doesn't seem to take a cat nap let alone enjoy a full night's sleep. While it has certainly been a roller coaster of highs and lows, one thing remains constant. This city is exhausting.
Out of curiosity, one day last week I decided to count the number of stairs I climb and from walking up the stairs to the park for Henry to play, back to my apartment to get ready, and then climbing Mt. Everest that is the staircase to my school, I have climbed a total of seventeen flights of stairs (fair estimate) before 8:00 AM. SEVENTEEN! By the time I arrive back at my apartment around 4:30, I would be perfectly content curling up in bed and calling it a night.
I am sure come January I will be wishing for these days, but for now, it's hot outside and I'm tired and melting. I feel as if I am in a constant state of dehydration despite the average of four liters of water I drink each day. If I could have an IV each night, I would. Even Henry is excessively panting after a quick jaunt outside and dramatically falls to the floor to maximize his exposure to the cooler temperatures as soon as we walk through the door.
Other than discovering our fondness of central air conditioning, we are doing alright in this city. My sofa finally graced us with it's presence last week in nothing short of a fiasco. I did my homework and learned that a couch could not be delivered to my building on a Saturday (I don't think the ones who make these rules work) and proactively planned for the couch to be delivered on Wednesday morning. When they called me to notify me of my 30 minute timeframe, I quickly sprinted home from school to greet them at the door. I had received confirmation of my couch move in approval and secured the insurance necessary. I showed the delivery men to the elevator and ran up stairs to wait. I waited. And waited. And kept waiting. Then finally, a knock came! I sprinted to the door like a gazelle only to hear that my couch did not fit in the elevator and to my great disappointment, the delivery company would only deliver to the third floor. And despite the fact that I could see the third floor from my door, they would not be able to bring the couch to me. This was the perfect time for me to strap on a pair of my finest big girl panties and discover a solution. What did I do? Cry. I stood there, in my doorway, crying to the delivery man who spoke very little english and was clearly uncomfortable with my weakness. I begged, I pleaded, offered my help, and he went to go speak to his boss. What felt like eternity later, I heard another knock at my door and there they were, two strapping Gaston like delivery men who had carried my precious couch up to the fourth floor! I was so excited, I could squeeze them. I turned to my wallet and pulled out all $44 I had in cash and gave it to them (not sure what the going rate is for carrying a couch up stairs but I was overwhelmed with elation and it was truly all I had.)
With the blistering heat outside and the arrival of my new sofa inside, I spent most of the weekend curled up on the couch when Hens drinking Pedialyte to prepare for the week ahead. We enjoyed more than a healthy serving of Gossip Girl on Netflix where I cannot help but ponder how my NYC life is nothing like Blair Waldorf's. Wheres my Dorota? I can barely walk in sandals how is she always in heels? I wouldn't mind a private driver. Wonder if I could shop there? Maybe this is why she always spent her summers in Paris. Back to the day dreaming...