The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,28
Prettier? More efficient? Nina leaned back against the wall and started daydreaming. How did this whole thing come about? Who was Bullet Journalist Zero? Who was struggling to capture and condense everything about their life using traditional journaling methods (which are what . . . lists? calendars?) and thought, hey, wait, let’s do it This Way Instead and spawned a worldwide phenomenon?
Nina imagined a young woman, let’s call her Brooke, the kind of Basic Girl that Nina both despised and envied, a woman who understood contouring and highlighting, and followed people on Instagram who cared passionately about tiny niche verticals such as, for example, contouring and highlighting, and who had a boyfriend with a YouTube channel about his crazy life with his three husky puppies and his hot, contoured, organized girlfriend. Imaginary Brooke considered herself a Boss, but at the same time enjoyed the girlie things of life, the cushions, the candles, the body glitter, and the trending Starbucks drink.
Having created the concept of bullet journaling, Brooke would then spend months perfecting her art, learning awesome new calligraphy styles, taking fantastic photos and posting them, and watching the rest of the Internet take her idea and run with it. Finally, she would start a company selling blank notebooks, Japanese pens, tiny stickers, and templates so her followers could bullet journal in their own, unique way within a Brooke-approved design framework. BrookeCo would spawn a whole lifestyle channel on some upstart streaming network, and Brooke would retire at forty, having married and divorced Husky Guy (who, it turned out, only really liked young dogs), and live a life filled with Meaning, Joy, and Meaningfully Joyful Accessories. Nina hated her.
Having invented and disposed of Brooke, Nina decided to love the one she was with, and stick with a regular bulletin board. She sat there a second, considering her goals.
OK, brain, keep it simple. She wanted to drink less wine and more water. Nina wrote that down, then refilled her wineglass. Baby steps.
She wanted to exercise more. This is easy, she thought; it turns out I have lots of goals. She looked up Couch to 5K plans and printed one out, pinning it to her board. She considered buying new running shoes. Then she found an article that said walking was as good as running and felt good about saving $100 by not buying running shoes.
She wanted to eat more vegetables, so she printed out a picture of broccoli and stuck that up. Why was broccoli the poster child for all vegetables? It must have a good agent or something, because she saw it everywhere. Big giant heads. Little bouncy florets. Kale had given it a run for its money for the last couple of years, but broccoli stayed focused and maintained its brand. Good for it. Nina put a prettier push pin on the picture of broccoli and felt supportive.
She wanted to date the guy from Quizzard.
She drank her wine and considered that. She hadn’t realized it was a goal, per se, until that moment, which proved that mood boards were good for something, haters be damned. Then she searched for “good first date restaurants on the East side of Los Angeles” and printed that out. Then she threw it away and printed out a picture of a baby penguin. Then she added a picture of a baby Russian dwarf hamster sitting in someone’s hand, because it made her go “squee.” Then she spent a full, fat twenty minutes looking at photos of small mammals and baby animals in general, then drifted into videos of soldiers returning from war to their dogs, which made her cry. Then she realized she was vampiring other people’s feelings, and that made her feel bad about herself, and suddenly the whole mood board made her cry and so she went to bed.
Why did she want to go out with that guy, anyway, when she could barely make it through an evening alone? A boyfriend was the last thing she needed. Therapy was what she needed. Therapy and maybe a Boston terrier. Or a French bulldog. One of those ugly yet adorable dogs.
Tomorrow would be better. At the very least, tomorrow would be different.
Eight
In which Nina views other people’s inner animals,
then goes on safari.
The next week passed uneventfully, which is not to understate the high level of energy that normally prevails on Larchmont Boulevard. A third juice bar opened. The hat store had a sale on berets. Rite Aid changed their seasonal display to bunnies and chickies.