I work. I grocery shop. I do dishes and straighten up our little apartment over and over again.
I workout. I toss junk mail, both from piles of papers and a never-ending email inbox.
I wipe down counter tops and read clinical literature.
I take naps and go to bed early on Friday night for work the next day.
I mean, as every book has a preface, you should know that I don't spend every morning reading in Washington Square Park, every afternoon at Oak Street Beach, every evening biking on Lake Shore Path, or every twilight picnicing at Montrose Harbor.
But I wouldn't consider myself a true Chicagoan if I didn't spend some summer days in such a manner.