"My Weekend As A 50 Year Old in Chicago"

On Friday I wake up at 8:00am.

Before I put my contacts in, I check e-mail on my phone to see if I had been turned down for any of the ten jobs I had applied for in the last week. Still in bed, I apply for a job that pays half as much as I made when I was last employed in 2024.

I sit up, swing my legs over the side of my bed, and put on my prosthetic leg. First the silicone liner, then the thick white cotton sock, and finally the prosthesis itself. I pad-thump to the bathroom, ignoring the fart sounds my leg makes when as I walk. I pee and brush my teeth. I do not wash my face because I hate the feeling of water as it spills down the back of my forearms.

After I wash my hands, I pad-thump back to bed where I resist the temptation to lie down. While seated, I put my contacts in. Grabbing my phone, I get up and walk to my old pink armchair where my pillbox of medicine and a pen of insulin wait for me. I remember that I need something to wash the pills down, so I pad-thump a quick round-trip journey to and from the refrigerator to get a Jewel-brand cola.

I put on my reading glasses because I’m 50, then go about my digital routine on my phone. I check instagram for messages and tags, first for my personal account and then for the miss Spoken account (that’s @missspoken.chicago, if you’d like to follow).

I check Threads for the latest memes and updates from my favorite accounts that post short form “Heated Rivalry” fan fiction. I check Facebook to see whose birthday it is, and debate whether or not I should wish any of my friends happy birthday or cut them loose and defriend them for good.

Back on Instagram, I check for updates from the accounts of my favorite actors from “Heated Rivalry” as well as it’s showrunner because he is actually the person affiliated from the show that I find the most attractive of all.

I get dressed, performing the sniff test on any of the four old sundresses I’ve worn in the last few days but didn’t manage to soil before putting on the same black one from Old Navy two summers ago that doesn’t require me to wear a bra. On my phone, I check my banking app to see if I can indulge in an overpriced iced green tea from the coffee shop in my building.

I pack a bag with my laptop, water bottle, noise cancelling headphones, reading glasses, and wallet. I take the elevator down to the first floor, where I am greeted by the usual assortment of Amazon packages that lie in wait for my neighbors. I say hello to the building porter when I see him mopping the lobby floor, then thank him when he holds open the double doors that lead outside.

I take a second to let the summer heat smack me in the face, then turn left to walk about 10 feet, and pull open the door of the coffee shop. I make small talk with the baristas while I order, hoping that they don’t think that I’m some weird one legged middle aged lady trying to flirt with them for a discount.

Once my tea is ready, I put a lid on the cup, pick it up, and pad-thump around for a few steps before I find a place to sit.

If I’m lucky, I find a seat on the Clark Street side of the shop where the people watching is best. I pull up an extra stool to rest my residual limb, but stop short of removing my prosthetic leg because I don’t believe in getting that comfortable in public. I quietly, discreetly, remove my MacBook and headphones from my bag, placing them on the comically small table in front of me.

Immediately, I reach for my phone and repeat the morning’s digital routine. Once I see a notification, not for a job application update, but for an update to one of the 97 pieces of “Heated Rivalry” fan fiction I am reading on AO3, I open my laptop, launch my mail there, then click the link to the new chapter.

Once I finish reading the chapter, I close my laptop. I check my phone again, this time putting on my headphones so I can look at videos on tiktok without bothering any of my neighbors.

After thirty minutes, I put down my phone and reopen my MacBook. I check various e-mail accounts for updates to job applications. I unsubscribe from various marketing mails for brands I happily shopped when I was gainfully employed.

I make a point of opening Substack but I do not actually read any of my friends’ newsletters.

At lunch time, I go back up to my apartment to think about lunch. I consider making a tuna melt, in honor of “Heated Rivalry” (if you know, you know) but order a double Filet-O-Fish meal from McDonald’s via Uber Eats. I have a coupon code.

While I wait the interminable 10 minutes for my food to be delivered, I launch Instacart and begin a shopping list of healthier options so I don’t end up ordering fast food via Uber Eats ever again for the rest of my life, amen.

I head downstairs to meet the courier with my lunch, and tip them an extra two dollars on top of the tip I added previously when they appear on a bicycle wearing an extra large insulated backpack full of orders.

Back in my apartment, I eat my lunch (starting with the fries because once they get lukewarm you may as well be eating mush) and watch old episodes of “Hell’s Kitchen” on YouTube. I fall asleep in the middle of a marathon devoted to worst contestants in HK history, awakening three hours later to the screensaver on my Roku television. The screensaver consists of suggestive photographs of the actors from “Heated Rivalry”.

For dinner, I make a tuna melt and drink a Jewel brand ginger ale. I scroll instagram and Tiktok for a few hours, then check e-mail before I take a shower, do my skincare routine, and take out my contacts.

Once I get in bed, I launch the Quinn app on my phone. I put on an eye mask, try to get in the mood, then fall asleep before I can get myself to come.

On Saturday, I wake up at 10:00am. I remember that I have a ticket to a 12:00pm screening of The Odyssey downtown. One of the presents I got for my birthday this year was a VIP membership to AMC. I’ve been to so many movies at this point that I consider myself and Nicole Kidman to be close personal friends.

Because I’m in a rush, I skip most of the steps of my morning routine, keeping only the part where I pee and put in contacts before I get dressed and pad-thump-skip to catch the next southbound 22 Clark Street bus which is coming in 3… now 2… now 1 minute.

Once I get on the bus, I put on my earphones and read more “Heated Rivalry” fan fiction for the duration of the trip to the Loop. This is an effective way of keeping me from judging how people ride the bus, because nobody rides the bus better than me. I pay my fare quickly. I move to the back of the bus. I stand if I have to but I rarely do because if there is one good thing about being an amputee it’s that I always get to sit on the bus.

I check my phone to see if there are any last minute brunch or lunch invitations I might have missed from friends. I keep checking even as the bus takes me further from my usual brunch haunts and closer to the Loop. I don’t often reach out to friends to make plans because plans usually cost money I don’t have to spare, and meals out with me usually involve my friends treating me so I try not to exploit that if I can help it.

I get off at Clark and Randolph, waiting for the driver to make the bus kneel so my dismount is as smooth as possible. It’s already the start time for the movie but thankfully there’s always 20 minutes of previews before any show so I can afford to saunter to the theater.

I stare wistfully at the Sephora on the first floor of the mall where the theater is before taking the elevator up to the theater on the fourth floor. An employee scans my ticket as I hustle towards the touchscreen kiosk where I order a large drink, a hot dog, and a small popcorn. Because I have rewards to redeem, my meal costs $20 instead of $50.

At least I don’t have to worry about catching cyclospora from the fake butter I squirt all over my popcorn.

Once I settle in the auditorium, I recline my seat. I think about removing my prosthetic leg. It’s dark, and this movie is three hours long. I may as well relax. I’m wearing long pants so maybe none of my neighbors will notice or care. I leave it on anyway.

The ride home on the Clark Street bus is longer than the ride to the theater. One set of priority seats are folded up for a double stroller which makes for a crowded ride when an elderly person with a shopping cart boards after. I shoot dirty looks at everybody who doesn’t move towards the back or offer seats to elderly passengers as they climb on. This is what I consider activism (just kidding just kidding).

I go back to reading fan fiction on my phone and miss my home stop by one. I take this opportunity to eat dinner at Taco Bell. I ask for my food no fresh vegetables, and refill my large cup three times with the diet version of Mountain Dew Baja Blast before I go home.

On Sunday I get up and think about going to Mass, as my aunt has texted her weekly reminder that I do so. Instead, I do my morning routine, then make a bowl of instant ramen and watch old movies.

Watching Katharine Hepburn stumble through middle age and into a vacation fling in David Lean’s Summertime feels like a religious experience. Fearing for Deborah Kerr’s safety as she tries to wrangle a small troupe of Anglican nuns towards godliness in colonial India in Black Narcissus, I polish off the remaining half bag of Tostito’s scoops I found in my cupboard without salsa or queso. I finish the Instacart order I began two days prior. I eat dinner while I look at people’s vacation pictures on Instagram. I clean everything up in the kitchen, then take out the garbage before it gets dark.

I drink a lot of unsweetened iced tea while I check the calendar to see if I have anything to do in the coming week.

Two shifts volunteering at the Swedish American Museum, which isn’t enough for the work/volunteer requirement for SNAP that may or may not apply to me as a disabled person. Therapy via video chat on Friday.

Maybe I’ll take off Wednesday afternoon to go to the Art Institute. I can use my SNAP card for free admission, and I can totally get a snack at the Jollibee (pretty sure I have a coupon) across the street from the museum when I go.