Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: Personal Essay

  • The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)




    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)


    We’ve all seen them. Those mythical creatures who bound out of bed at dawn, chirping about sunshine and possibilities. They sip green smoothies with alarming perkiness while the rest of us are just trying to remember how to operate the coffee machine. Yes, I’m talking about morning people.

    My Pact With the Alarm Clock (Spoiler: It Didn’t End Well)

    It all started innocently enough. I was reading an article about the numerous benefits of waking up early: increased productivity, reduced stress levels, the ability to speak fluent unicorn, you name it. I, seduced by the promise of achieving peak human potential, decided to make a change. No more hitting snooze until the last possible second. I was going to become a morning person, dammit!

    alarm for the ungodly hour of 6:00 am and prepared for a new me. My plan was foolproof (or so I thought):

    1. Wake up when the alarm goes off (no negotiating!).
    2. Drink a tall glass of lemon water while basking in the morning sun (or, you know, staring bleary-eyed out the window).
    3. Go for a jog while listening to uplifting music (because nothing says “I love mornings!” like pretending you’re in a montage sequence).

    The first morning was rough. Like, sandpaper-on-your-eyeballs rough. I stumbled through my morning routine, feeling more like a zombie than a beacon of productivity. The lemon water tasted suspiciously like betrayal, and my “jog” resembled a slow-motion interpretive dance of someone who desperately needed caffeine.

    The Universe Had Other Plans for My Inner Early Bird

    Things went downhill from there. I started setting two alarms, then three, just to ensure I actually woke up. I accidentally put my shirt on inside out more times than I’d like to admit. And don’t even get me started on the day I poured orange juice into my coffee mug.

  • The Great Sock Drawer Mystery: An Epic Tale of Disappearing Socks

    The Great Sock Drawer Mystery: An Epic Tale of Disappearing Socks

    The Case of the Missing Stripes

    Okay, friends, gather ’round. Let’s talk about laundry. Specifically, let’s talk about that universally frustrating, mind-boggling phenomenon: disappearing socks. We’ve all been there, right? You toss a perfectly matched pair of socks into the washing machine, a swirling vortex of suds and good intentions. But when you pull the laundry out, BAM! One sock stands alone, its partner having vanished into the abyss of the laundry room.

    Just last week, it happened to me. A pair of my favorite socks—fuzzy, pink, and gloriously striped—went for a spin cycle and only one returned. I even went digging through the washing machine’s depths like a prospector panning for gold, but alas, the missing sock was nowhere to be found.

    Socks Go?

    So where do these missing socks go? Over the years, I’ve developed a few theories:

    1. The Parallel Universe Theory

    This theory posits that our washing machines are actually portals to a parallel universe. Not just any universe, mind you, but a universe populated entirely by single, mismatched socks. It’s a lonely place, I imagine, but at least they have each other, right?

    2. The Sock Gnome Caper

    Legend has it that mischievous little creatures called Sock Gnomes inhabit our laundry rooms. They’re particularly fond of brightly colored and patterned socks, which they sneak away to use in their elaborate gnome fashion shows. I haven’t received an invitation yet, but I’m holding out hope.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris


    We’ve all been there. It’s 2 a.m., you’re huddled under the covers with your Game Boy (or, okay, your smartphone), desperately trying to clear just one more line. Yes, I’m talking about Tetris. That deceptively simple, utterly addictive game that has sucked hours of our lives into its pixelated vortex.

    But what if I told you that Tetris isn’t just a game? What if I told you it’s actually a profound metaphor for life itself? Okay, maybe that’s a stretch. But hear me out! Over the years, I’ve realized that my Tetris obsession has actually taught me some valuable (and hilarious) life lessons.

    Tetris and the Art of Letting Go

    I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit of a Tetris hoarder. I like to hold onto those perfectly straight pieces, convinced that I’ll need them for some crucial, game-saving maneuver later on. Spoiler alert: I never do.

    This, my friends, is a classic example of Tetris teaching me a valuable life lesson: sometimes, you just have to let go. Holding onto things you don’t need, whether it’s that perfectly straight Tetris piece or that grudge you’ve been nursing for years, only creates unnecessary clutter and stress.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me (and You)

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me (and You)




    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me (and You)


    We all know that plants bring life to a room, purify the air, and look pretty darn stylish on a shelf. But have you ever stopped to consider that they might also be silently judging your every move?

    The Day My Succulent Sided-Eyed Me

    It all started last week. I was in my usual morning frenzy – hair resembling a bird’s nest, desperately searching for matching socks, spilling coffee on the counter (again!). As I scrambled to clean up the latest caffeine casualty, I caught a glimpse of my succulent, Gerald.

    Now, Gerald isn’t just any succulent. He’s a proud, spiky specimen with a stubborn refusal to grow in any direction except directly at me. As I met his gaze (or what I swear was a pointed glare), I realized something. Gerald didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked downright judgmental.

    Gerald had seen enough. He was silently questioning my ability to adult, and honestly? I didn’t blame him.

    Signs Your Plant is Secretly Judging You

    Since my epiphany with Gerald, I’ve started noticing it everywhere. The way my peace lily seems to wilt dramatically after a particularly stressful phone call. The suspicious way my spider plant seems to “accidentally” drop a leaf whenever I attempt to sing along to the radio. They’re onto us, people!

    Don’t believe me? Here’s a list of irrefutable evidence that your plant is judging you too:

    • Sudden Drooping: Let’s be real, sometimes we say things we shouldn’t. But did you ever notice how your plant seems to dramatically wilt the moment you utter that particularly harsh piece of gossip? Coincidence? I think not.
    • Suspicious Growth Spurts: You know that feeling of accomplishment when you finally tackle that pile of laundry you’ve been ignoring for weeks? Notice how your plant seems to magically sprout a new leaf right after? They’re watching, and they approve (for now).
    • The Unwavering Stare: Let’s face it, plants are masters of the side-eye. That unblinking gaze seems innocent enough, but I’m convinced they’re analyzing our every move, silently judging our life choices one watering at a time.

    They’ve Seen Things, Man

  • The Great Sock Drawer Mystery: An Epic Tale of Missing Laundry

    The Great Sock Drawer Mystery: An Epic Tale of Missing Laundry




    The Great Sock Drawer Mystery: An Epic Tale of Missing Laundry


    The Case of the Vanishing Stripes

    Let’s be honest, folks. We’ve all been there. You’ve done the laundry, feeling like a domestic superhero, only to open the dryer and find…one sock. It’s always a sock. And it’s always the cutest, fuzziest sock in the entire load. Where does its mate go? What cosmic force compels this singular piece of clothing to vanish into thin air?

    Sock Suspects

    Over the years, I’ve developed a few working theories about the Great Sock Drawer Mystery. Allow me to present the usual suspects:

    1. The Sock Monster: This mythical creature (possibly related to the boogeyman) lurks in the shadows of your laundry room, snatching socks with reckless abandon. Evidence: None whatsoever. But it’s fun to blame a monster, right?
    2. The Washing Machine Wormhole: Some believe that washing machines harbor secret portals to another dimension. Socks, being adventurous souls, get sucked in, never to be seen again. This theory is supported by the occasional reappearance of long-lost socks, slightly worse for wear but sporting a certain “I’ve seen things” look in their stitching.
    3. The Spouse/Child/Roommate Factor: Let’s not rule out human error. Sometimes, socks go missing because they’re accidentally kicked under the bed, stuffed into a shoe, or simply overlooked in a laundry basket. However, this explanation lacks the intrigue and mystery of the first two, so I prefer to ignore it.

    Operation: Sock Retrieval – My Laughable Attempts

    My quest to solve the mystery has led me down some strange and hilarious paths. I’ve:

    • Checked under every piece of furniture in my house (and found enough dust bunnies to knit a sweater).
    • Inspected the inside of my washing machine with a flashlight, convinced I’d find a shimmering portal (alas, only lint).
    • Started pairing my socks together before washing them, using those little plastic doohickeys (which, ironically, also seem to disappear).
  • Why My Phone Charger Is My Arch Nemesis (and Other Tales of Tech Frustration)

    Why My Phone Charger Is My Arch Nemesis (and Other Tales of Tech Frustration)





    Why My Phone Charger Is My Arch Nemesis (and Other Tales of Tech Frustration)

    We live in a world run by technology. It’s amazing! It’s life-changing! It’s… also incredibly frustrating at times. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my gadgets and gizmos as much as the next person. But some days, it feels like the universe conspires to make my tech experience as painful as possible.

    The Case of the Vanishing Phone Charger

    Take yesterday, for instance. Picture this: I’m cozy in bed, about to drift off to sleep, when I realize my phone is about to die. No problem, I think, I’ll just plug it in. Except… where’s my charger?

    Thus began the nightly ritual I’m sure many of you know too well. I checked the bedside table – nope. Under the bed? Of course not. How about that black hole also known as my purse? Nada. After fifteen minutes of frantic searching, I finally found it… plugged into a random outlet in the kitchen. Like it just decided to go on a solo adventure while I wasn’t looking.

  • The Time I Tried to be a ‘Morning Person’ (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to be a ‘Morning Person’ (and Failed Spectacularly)




    The Time I Tried to be a ‘Morning Person’ (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Great Dawn Experiment

    Let me preface this by saying I love the idea of mornings. That crisp air, the promise of a fresh start, the smugness of being “ahead” of the day…it all sounds lovely. In theory. In reality, I’m more of a “wake up with bed hair and the faint scent of last night‘s pizza” kind of gal.

    But a few weeks ago, I stumbled across one too many articles praising the productivity and overall zen of morning people. I’d be healthier, wealthier, and possibly sprout a third arm (okay, maybe not that last one) if I just embraced the sunrise, they promised. So, I did what any self-respecting skeptic would do: I embarked on a social experiment. I, a certified night owl, would become a morning person. For science. And, you know, the potential for extra limbs.

    Phase 1: Rise and…Regret?

    My alarm clock, usually relegated to the dusty corner of my nightstand, was given a place of honor. 6:00 AM. The audacity. The first morning was rough, like waking up in a parallel universe where the sun was a cruel joke and coffee hadn’t been invented yet. I stumbled through a yoga routine (read: awkwardly flailed around) while my cat gave me a judgmental stare.

    morning staring blankly at my computer screen, occasionally nodding off and startling myself awake. On the plus side, I discovered a newfound appreciation for the snooze button.

    Phase 2: Embrace the Caffeine (and the Chaos)

    Week two, and I realized I needed reinforcements. Enter: industrial-sized coffee maker. My caffeine intake reached new heights, as did my anxiety levels. I was a whirlwind of nervous energy, cleaning my apartment at lightning speed, then forgetting where I’d put my keys five minutes later.

    My attempt at a healthy breakfast (a smoothie, because that’s what healthy morning people do, right?) ended disastrously. Let’s just say my blender and I had a difference of opinion on the appropriate speed setting.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant




    My Brown Thumb Turns Green: Embracing the Houseplant Life

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have a history of being less than green. More like a delightful shade of brown, actually. I’ve killed cacti with neglect, drowned succulents with affection, and don’t even get me started on that poor peace lily. So, imagine my surprise when a friend, bless her soul, gifted me with—you guessed it—another houseplant.

    “It’s a ZZ plant,” she chirped, “practically indestructible!” Famous last words, I thought, eyeing the unsuspecting green creature with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Little did I know, this plant wasn’t just about to survive under my care, it was about to teach me a thing or two about life itself.

    Houseplant Resilience: It’s More Than Just a Buzzword

    The first thing that struck me about my ZZ plant, affectionately dubbed “Zeke,” was his resilience. I forgot to water him for a week? No problem, Zeke hardly seemed to notice. Stuck him in a dimly lit corner because, well, interior design isn’t my forte? Zeke took it in stride, growing happily even without the spotlight.

    This got me thinking. How often do we, as humans, wilt at the first sign of difficulty? Do we forget that we, too, are capable of enduring, adapting, and thriving even in less-than-ideal circumstances? Zeke, in his quiet, leafy way, reminded me that resilience isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a choice. A choice we can make every single day.

    Lesson #2: Cultivating Patience: A Houseplant’s Slow and Steady Growth

    Now, I’m a bit of an instant gratification kind of gal. I like my coffee strong, my internet faster, and my results yesterday. So, you can imagine my initial frustration when Zeke didn’t sprout new leaves every other day like some kind of botanical overachiever.

    But as the weeks turned into months, I began to appreciate Zeke’s slow and steady growth. He reminded me that real change, real growth, takes time. It’s not about overnight transformations, but about the small, consistent efforts we make day after day. It’s about trusting the process, even when we can’t see the immediate results.

  • The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices

    The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices


    Phil, took a turn. He went from being a source of tranquility to…well, let’s just say I started to feel a distinct vibe coming from his leafy corner.

    Phil‘s “eye” (or where an eye would be if plants had eyeballs). His usually perky leaves seemed to droop lower than usual.

    “Don’t even start, Phil,” I muttered, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “Third dates are stressful, okay?”

    Of course, he didn’t answer. He just stood there, silently judging my taste in men and my questionable ability to adult. From that point on, I swear he wilted a little more every time I mentioned the guy.

    The Great Takeout Container Debacle

    Then came the incident with the takeout containers. I had just polished off my third night in a row of pad thai (what can I say, I was going through a phase) when I noticed Phil‘s leaves were practically dragging on the floor.

    “Okay, fine,” I sighed, tossing the empty container (with a twinge of guilt) into the recycling. “I get it. You’re basically a health guru disguised as a houseplant.”

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)






    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Okay, let’s be real. Remember those perfectly curated Instagram feeds overflowing with lush greenery and captions like “My plant babies bring me so much joy”? Yeah, I used to roll my eyes too. I mean, who has time for all that watering and fertilizing and… *whispers* talking to plants?

    I, my friends, was a notorious plant killer. If it was green and required even a modicum of responsibility, it withered under my care. Cacti? More like cacti-didn’t-make-it. Succulents? Please, they practically begged for death.

    But then, something magical happened. Or maybe it was just boredom during lockdown. I adopted a sad-looking Peace Lily from the clearance rack at the grocery store. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen? It would meet the same fate as its brethren?

    To my utter astonishment, the little guy thrived! Turns out, a little love (and by love, I mean not forgetting to water it every decade) goes a long way. And thus began my descent into the wonderful, weird, and surprisingly hilarious world of plant parenthood.

    The Unexpected Perks of Plant Parenting (Besides Oxygen)

    Turns out, there’s more to this whole plant thing than meets the eye. Who knew those leafy green companions could bring so much to the table (literally and figuratively)?

    1. Stress-Relieving Superpowers: Remember that whole “talking to plants” thing I scoffed at? Turns out, there’s something incredibly therapeutic about tending to another living being, even if it can’t respond with words (although, I swear my Monstera gives me knowing glances sometimes).