I don’t leave the office until after eight. I only stumble as far as a sushi restaurant three blocks away, where my roommate, Sasha, is waiting for me.
“That bad?” she asks, flagging down the waitress. “We’re going to need sake.”
“No sake. Green tea. And then I’m hitting the last yoga class of the night.”
“I’m not making you come with me.”
Sasha’s a runner. Uptight, controlled…she’s practically allergic to finding her resting place and just breathing.
Me? I’m spastic, anxious, and a chronic worrier. I hold it all at bay by doing yoga five days a week.
Not usually this late at night, but hello real world. I’ve been spoiled by being a grad student—it’s hard work, but I can mostly do it on my own schedule.
I have to be back at work at six thirty tomorrow morning. Tell the PM he’s wrong at seven. Then probably fight with people all day as I convince them I’m right. If I don’t centre myself and get a good night’s sleep, that’s not going to go well.