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If My Days Were a Novel…

…they would look something like this:

Chelsea’s cell phone vibrates at 7:40 am though the alarm is truly unnecessary with sheer white curtains illuminating the morning sun through her windows. She bounces (usually) out of bed to prepare herself for work. After brushing her teeth and putting on her face in the bathroom she marvels at her closet to decide which ensemble fits her mood that day. Geniusly she has her necklace holder displaying her magnificent collection right beside it, as that usually either determines what she is going to wear or further confirms her outfit decision. Making her way silently downstairs so as not to awaken her still snoozing roommate she puts together an easy breakfast and eats over a Seattle Times crossword puzzle or if anxious to get to work (?) throws a portable breakfast in her Misako bag from Spain and sets off for the 358.

Bus, that is, and if she didn’t have one of the many novels she has been breezing though, purchased from Half Price Books, in her current reading obsession she might go stir crazy thanks to the cast of characters that you may find on the 358. But in only 15 minutes time she arrives at 3rd and Seneca. Thankfully the bus driver announces her stop as home to Benaroya Hall and the Seattle Public Library so she doesn’t miss her stop in her absorption into her book. Down the steepest two streets in her life, enter through the Watermark Tower, and up to 5th floor, she seats herself in her desk only long enough to turn on her computer before getting a cup of Peets Coffee. For the next four hours she stares at the model on SAFE that has for so long been causing her headaches, only breaking to chat (joke, make fun of, laugh) with her colleagues from time to time or get another cup of coffee or some sweet in the kitchen or click to resume her Avett Brothers Pandora station.

Lunch couldn’t come quicker and if the weather is nice eating outside is just the breath of fresh air to give her mental clarity to resume the next four hours with even longer breaks than the morning. Wednesdays and Fridays are glorious, where Chelsea looks up where the Summer Concert Series is playing at in hopes to catch some live music.

She saves her work and logs off at the strike of 5 (or 5:30) and either walks the few blocks to Belltown or Pioneer Square for a drink and a few happy hour appetizers with some friends or she hops back on the bus, thinking of what to have for dinner and which event sounds best to waste away the evening. Invites are sent, but with or without interest, she is going to do something. Driving over the Aurora Bridge and staring out at Lake Union below, the hills of Queen Anne and East Lake to her left and right she marvels at the beauty of Seattle. She feels that she is content with whatever she does in the next few hours, until she cozies into her tall white iron Ikea bed with a too-hot duvet to watch a Hulu episode and generally some ice cream before starting all over again. Such is her life.

Chelsea

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