By Chandler Lamm

Nothing unusual has happened to me recently. No news I’ve been waiting to share. No conversations that followed me afterwards. No moments that seemed to separate the day from any other.

I woke up a few minutes before my alarm went off. I closed my eyes, happy to have those few minutes of peace where I had no obligations. The alarm rang, and I turned it off immediately, but I stayed in bed a little longer.

I went downstairs to make a coffee. It was the same coffee I made every morning. The espresso brewed on my stovetop in the vintage-looking coffee maker my parents had given me for Christmas. I poured it to a decorative glass with ice and the flavored creamer I had picked out earlier in the week.

Outside, it was warmer than I had expected. I had brought a jacket anyway. It ended up slung over my arm instead.

Someone passing me smiled without slowing down. I smiled back without thinking, wondering for a second we knew each other, even though I was certain we didn’t.

Later, I planted myself at the kitchen table, opening my laptop to respond to a few emails. I stopped halfway through a message to refill my water. When I sat back down, I had forgotten what I was about to say, but it didn’t seem to matter.

At some point, sunlight began to flood my kitchen. It slowly crept in until it rested against the leg of the table. I moved my chair so I could sit in it. I stayed there with it until it shifted away.

In the afternoon I made another coffee. Not because I necessarily needed it, more so because I enjoyed the way it looked next to my computer. The fancy glass cup somehow made me feel more productive.

Outside, someone was walking their dog. The dog stopped for a moment, turning to look inside my back door that I had cracked opened to enjoy the weather. It cocked its head for a moment, panting as it stared at me, before it decided to keep walking.

I decided maybe I should go on a walk as well. I walked out the front door without fully deciding where I was headed. My neighbors were sitting on their front porch, laughing over a story from the past weekend. I heard them before I saw them. We waved to each other, and I paused briefly to join their conversation before continuing on my walk.

When I got home, I sat my keys down on the counter. They made the same sound they always do.

I checked my phone, viewing the texts from my friends that I made a mental note to respond to later. I opened the fridge and stood there for a second before closing it again. I hadn’t been looking for anything specific.

I checked my phone again. There were no new messages.

I made dinner while my roommates sat at the kitchen table. We discussed our day, sharing little details that probably weren’t significant enough to remember tomorrow. We laughed over them anyway. I settled into a seat next to them and ate my meal.

The laughter continued as we moved into the living room. We watched a show, only half paying attention as we continued to talk. The noise carried through the room in a way that made it feel more full than it was.

Later, after walking upstairs to my bedroom, I pulled back my comforter and slid into my sheets. They smelled like the vanilla laundry detergent I had been so excited to buy. I read my book for a minute, desensitized to the hum of the air conditioner that kept the room from being completely silent.

I turned my light off, making sure my alarm was set for the next morning. I reflected on how nice my day was. Tomorrow will probably be similar. I’ll lay in bed a few minutes after my alarm goes off. I’ll make my coffee. I’ll sit in the sunlight while it lasts. I’ll laugh with my roommates. I’ll enjoy the day, even though nothing eventful happened. I’ll have nothing to write about.

I Have Nothing to Write About.

I’d Make You Some Tea