In The Beginning, God Was Asleep

In the beginning, God was asleep.

She was dreaming of a cosmic river of mint chocolate milkshakes when her alarm clock blared, angry and flashing red. She woke with a mauling headache, slapped the snooze button, and went back to sleep. An hour later, she woke again, looked at the clock and realized she had overslept. She groaned and rolled onto the floor, tripping over her shoes.

This was the beginning of the First Day.

That morning, God moved sluggishly, which was all the more notable since she had not created slugs yet. She made a mental note to make slugs the way she felt that morning—lethargic and damp. All of existence—which wasn’t much—annoyed her. She dreaded an entire week of this. She brewed an extra strong cup of coffee and slogged through the morning.

Just before lunchtime, God got a burst of energy and decided it was time to create something. She paused her game of 2048, shut her laptop and set to work making light. It didn’t take long, but she was damn proud of herself. She decided to call the light “day,” and she separated it from the darkness, which she called “night.” She texted her best friend a picture, but the asshole didn’t even respond.

After lunch, God was pretty spent from the morning’s exertions, so she only pretended to work while taking Buzzfeed quizzes about which milkshake flavor she was. On her way home, she decided to stop at the gym. She didn’t want to, but she felt fat after the weekend. She managed thirty good minutes on the elliptical before she caught herself falling asleep on an inflatable ball.

At home, God congratulated herself on her day. She had created light and gone to the gym. She didn’t want to lose the momentum, so instead of ordering a pizza, she finished her leftover sushi from the day before. She also decided to start that new book her friend had given her, but she fell asleep in bed after two paragraphs, without brushing her teeth.

The First Day.


God sprang out of bed the next day and set to work. She worked from home on Tuesdays. She was in an organizing mood. She decided today was the day to separate things and put them in their places.

She started with the water. There was too much water in one place, she realized. Some of it needed to go in the air. So she spent the entire day putting up a barrier between the water above and the water below. The water above she turned into vapor, mixed in a few more chemicals, like nitrogen and carbon, and called it “sky.” She didn’t come up with a name for the water below, but she figured it would sort itself out.

When all this was done, God checked her watch and realized she had missed lunch. It was almost time for dinner, but she wasn’t even hungry. She went for a long run with her dog, Bono. When they got home, she tried a new recipe for cedar-plank salmon and asparagus. She spent the rest of the evening reading her new book and drinking tea on the balcony. She went to sleep early and slept well.

The Second Day.


Wednesday was endless. It felt like an eternity. She spent all morning gathering the waters below into one place, unearthing the dry ground beneath. She realized she would finally have to name the waters below—which meant that she would have to name the land, too. She hated naming things. After wasting an hour writing nonsensical words on the whiteboard in her office, she decided to just call the ground “land” and the water “seas.” She rolled her head back and closed her eyes. She was exhausted.

But it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. God ordered tacos from the food truck down the street and started creating vegetation: plants, trees, and fruit of all kinds, all over the land. The afternoon dragged on even longer than the morning. She never knew she would have to create so many different things. She had to stay late just to get caught up.

When it was time to go, she thought about the gym but decided against it. She was starving and her dog probably needed to use the bathroom. She ordered pizza, went home, and watched Project Runway until she fell asleep with a half-eaten bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream in her lap.

The Third Day.


God woke up on Thursday with an idea: She would hang two lights in the sky. One to govern the day, and one to govern the night. She was feeling extra creative, so she decided to toss in a bunch of tiny, sparkly lights in the nighttime, just for fun.

The Fourth Day.


On Friday, God realized she had forgotten to put any living creatures in the water or the sky, so she made a host of fish and whales and sharks and birds. She didn’t worry about making them perfect. Whatever idea popped into her mind, she ran with it. When the platypus came out, she took one look and almost got rid of it. But it was Friday, and she was ready to get this whole thing over with.

By the time she finished with the sea creatures and flying animals, it was practically time to go home. She left a few minutes early so she could make the happy hour at her favorite taqueria. God loved tacos. With two-for-one jumbo margaritas and a bowl of tortilla chips in her belly, God took an Uber home and crashed on her couch. She woke up in the evening with her dog licking her face. She let him out to use the bathroom, thought about throwing up, decided she could make it through the night, and went back to sleep.

The Fifth Day.


God woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a horrible realization: She had forgotten all the land creatures. She had planned to spend the day cleaning her apartment, but that was out of the question now. She cursed herself for leaving early the day before. She sat down at her dining room table and set about drawing plans for livestock, creepy-crawlies, wild animals, and all sorts of other random creatures to fill up the land. 

Eventually, she found her rhythm. God was so inspired that she decided to make two new creatures called “humans,” which she made to look like herself. It was the only narcissistic thing she ever did, so sue her. 

But she was in a rush. Instead of making a whole bunch of humans, God just told the pair to “be fruitful and multiply.” She also told them to go ahead and name all the plants and animals. She had things to do. 

After a quick run, she still had time to clean her bathtub and sweep the floors. She ordered in Chinese, cuddled up with Bono, and watched her favorite action movie on Netflix.

The Sixth Day.


On the Seventh Day, God woke up late, stretched her arms, and smiled. She decided it was going to be a good day. She had worked hard that week, and she deserved it.

She took her dog for a long walk, then went to that hip brunch buffet around the corner and drank raspberry mimosas. She took a nap in the afternoon, went to a yoga class in the evening, ate leftover Chinese for dinner, and fell asleep in bed with her new book—still unfinished—lying open on her stomach. 

The Seventh Day.

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