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Working at 5am: A Survival Guide



Working at 5am: A Survival Guide

With careful planning and technique, being at work at 5am doesn't have to suck. I'm the type of person who would happily sleep all day if I could and my bed and I have a happy, blissful relationship together.

Quick Ode to my Bed:

More than just a companion to my dreams,
You're my best friend and comforter.
Happily you greet me in the arms of your tangled blankets,
And give my weary head rest on your flat pillow.

Oh bed, we've been through much together,
We've read through all 7 Harry Potter books,
Learned the pitfalls of eating waffles in bed,
Battled with invading insects that have tried to ruin our solitude,
But best of all, you've been there with me through all my nightmares.

Time flies far too fast,
As I snore and drool,
Daily I leave you,
But you're always there to welcome be back.

Tangent over, back to our Survival Guide:

7pm: In theory, if you wanted eight hours of sleep you should be in bed by 7 the night before, but realistically, we all know this isn't going to happen.

8pm: By this time if you're not glancing at the clock guiltily, being well rested probably doesn't mean that much to you. That or you're going through an inner dialogue with yourself about how awake you will be at 3am. The part of you that is telling you that sleeping at 8pm is ridiculous will probably win since the part of you that wants to be responsible is weak.

9pm: Start getting ready for bed. Be careful not to suddenly become overly energized at this point and be tempted to do a sudden burst of random housework - this will only keep you from sleeping! Head straight to bed, even if the battle there takes an hour.

IMPORTANT: Make sure you set your alarm. I set two just to be safe: My iphone and an alarm clock.

10pm: No matter what, you're probably tossing and turning in bed at this point, suddenly thinking about a hundred million different things. Things like, "Why did that guy on the ttc smell so bad?" and "Maybe I will actually eat breakfast when I wake up, since I'm sleeping so early and all," and "I wonder why s/he smiled at me like that. Does that mean s/he likes me? Or maybe s/he hates my guts and the smile meant they have evil intentions. Do not trust smiling people."

Tips to fall asleep: 1) Count Sheep 2) (As bad as this seems) Pray 3) Listen to random podcasts. (Warning: Don't listen to random podcasts that excite you, i.e. Shakespeare. Listen to something French.)

11pm-2:59am: You're hopefully snoring at this point. Drool like no one is watching because you'll have to be up in a minute.

3am: Now you're allowed to ask the question you've been wanting to ask. Why would you wake up at 3am when you start work at 5am? Like most things in life, I have no reason. I just like having a 2 hour cushion to do things like: Hit snooze for the next 40 minutes.

3:40: After hitting snooze for way too long, adjust your eyes slowly to the light by browsing instagram on your phone. After a solid ten minutes of this, brush your teeth and shower. The shower will be painful, try to sing a song to cheer yourself up.

4am: Coffee is a must at this point. Chug chug chug.

If you're a guy, you can skip this part. Go eat breakfast or something.

To all the ladies: Now is the point you might stand in front of the mirror and ask yourself if it's even worth it to put makeup on. The answer is yes because although the world is still sleeping at this point, it will be waking up at some point and it's going to have to look at you. You will poke your eye with mascara, you will cry because of your contacts, you will always somehow put too much lipstick on, the hair dryer will refuse to cooperate - it's all part of being complicated.

4:30-4:45: Depending on where you live, leave the house and admire how empty the streets can be and question what the lonely cars you pass by have been up to. If you see a pedestrian, do not honk and say hi, you might scare them. You are allowed to feel good about yourself, you made it out of the house.

5am: Start work.

7am: Make sure you take a break because you will be starving at this point. Nothing is open yet so hopefully you were smart enough to pack an apple.

7:30-10am: This is when things start to get painful, stay strong! You will start feeling light headed and might start cursing everyone. There is no way of stopping this, just avoid people and do not make eye contact. Hopefully your coworkers are smart enough to leave you alone.

11am: Take another break, trust me, you will feel better after eating. Everything is open now, i.e. Starbucks and McDonalds.

11:30-1pm: With your newfound energy, suddenly work 3x the speed to make up for your earlier sluggish movements.

1pm-1:30pm: Probably the most painful last half hour of your life. Hide in the office to do 'work'.

1:30pm: Freedom!

And there you have it. Good luck.





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Blurred Lines


Today at work my contact lenses were bothering me so much that I wanted to just walk around half blind. I have extremely bad eyesight, and I have never met anyone outside of my family whose prescription even comes close. I’ve never minded it except for the fact that my bad eyesight has caused me to be paranoid about a million different eye diseases and going blind. My biggest fear used to be going to the optometrist and receiving the horrific news that I suddenly have glaucoma, or that the throbbing vein in the back of my eye will pop any day now.

My grandma says I have bad eyesight because I used to stay up too late reading Archie comics and because I did nothing but watch Scooby Doo all day. I realized she was lying when my sister, who never watched Scooby Doo, had just of bad eyesight as me. (When I was a kid I wasn’t allowed to watch Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball Z, or the Simpsons, which made me extremely unpopular and left me with no other choice but Scooby Doo. But damn that Scooby Doo, I should have spent my time more productively by watching the Magic School Bus.)

Anyway. Having glasses made me temporarily popular in grade five, when I was the only one with glasses. And that’s about the extent of popularity I will ever get from wearing glasses - although apparently, Toronto is increasingly becoming more hipster-ized, and what is a true hipster without real prescription glasses? My grade five popularity might actually just make a comeback.

But despite the pain of having to poke my eyes to wear contact lenses, and despite the pain of actually having to wear glasses, I like being half blind. Sometimes I just don’t want to see things clearly. I like that unfocused haze of undefined edges, the star-like glow of lights, and the poetic metaphor life seen unclearly.  

I don’t think I’ll ever get laser eye surgery, not because I’m afraid of that small percentage that something will go horribly wrong, but because being half blind is who I am.

Here’s a list of things I prefer to do while half blind: (Warning, this might get TMI)

1) Using the washroom

Obviously no one is going to take a shower with glasses on, and some people might take showers while wearing contacts, but I realized the other day that some people can actually see clearly in the shower. Like instead of having to hold up the shampoo bottle up to your nose to read whether it’s a conditioner or not, they can just look at the shelf and read the label. And instead of seeing blurred drops of water, they might be able to see individual drops of water!

Anyway, this includes brushing my teeth, washing my face, and other things you use the washroom for. Don’t ask, it’s a personal choice.

2) Reading

There’s a very precise distance of five inches from my face where I can see anything clearly. (Hoorah!) Any further or closer it’s blurry. Luckily enough, five inches happens to the perfect reading distance, and I’ll never get distracted because if I look up, I wont’ be able to see anything anyways.

3) Cooking

Before you tell me this is dangerous I’ll confess that I only know how to cook stupid things like instant noodles and eggs. For anything that requires more than three ingredients, rest assured, I wear my glasses.

Moral of the story: There is none, my contacts were just bothering me. 

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1 Step Forward, 2 Steps Back


Today while walking Charlie, I decided to venture into my old elementary school to see how my adult self measured up against the old bricks of the school, and whether they’d feel smaller by my presence. Except, instead of feeling too big for the school, I felt smaller, suddenly disquieted by the nightmare-ish memories the place held for me. So I let Charlie pee on the gravel and do his business on the grass, while I tried to intimate the walls and doors with ill thoughts of being environmentally unconscious and of their never changing stance against strangers.

After walking through the side corners of the school where I was suddenly reminded of my friend telling me about her first kiss to some boy a year younger than her, and remembering my guffaw at her brazenness, I wanted to show Charlie the playground, hoping he’d do some damage, only to be met by kids playing there. And suddenly, I realized that this place no longer belonged to me, that while I strived to move away from my memories there, it had been moving away from me as well. The playground, the basketball court, the field – none of them belonged to me and my friends anymore. We’ve all grown up.

It suddenly hit me how nice it would be to be a teacher. That while the world is busy moving on and growing up, you’re always there, year after year, a steady constant and observer to the sweeping waves of students coming in and out. As a teacher you get to watch the rhythm of time without the same cares as the students going through it.

This afternoon before the walk I went to visit Jason at ELC to round up some unfinished business. I snuck in and did my thing, hoping to leave without seeing the kids, but when I exited his office the students were suddenly there, looking at me as if they had seen a ghost. One by one they stared and left and stared and left, until I found the courage to run out of there. The truth is, though it’s only been a month, I really miss these kids, and as corny as it sounds, my heartstrings were tugged and I just wanted to hug all the kids and shout, “Sorry for leaving you!”

After I left, they messaged me on facebook and asked what I was doing. When I told them it was none of their business they bribed me with a party only if (exponential) I came back. I would be getting a coming back party. The past month I had been away, I had been trying to forget them, only to realize my forgetting them only made me miss them. But really, I have no reason to miss them, they aren’t mine anymore, and will continue to be less and less so as time passes by.

Until one day, when perchance we come back to the old ELC brick building and try to feel bigger than the bricks, only once again, to come out smaller against the memories made there. 

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Butt Fur


After washing Charlie's butt fur, that part of the dog that never looks cute and gets much attention, the part where a forest of fur grows wild and tangled, my hands felt disgusting, as if I couldn't wash off the grimy poop off my fingers no matter how many times or how long my fingers were immersed under soap suds and water.

This is the part of dog ownership that is never glorified. Those days where the heat rises to that perfect temperature that causes your dog to eat grass and consequently, give him diarrhea. And of course, no one wants a dog with a poop stained butt running around the house so it's up to you to clean his butt. So here it is, my explanation for exploring that uncharted territory of my dog: His butt fur. (May this never happen again.)

The responsibility of giving the dog a bath every week has fallen on my lap when I suspected that Matt wasn't giving him a bath frequently enough or that he was doing a very poor job of it.

Charlie and I have our ups and downs with bath times. The first time I gave him a bath I nearly killed Charlie, or so I thought I did. When Charlie was a little over a month old, I was determined to train him into one of those super dogs you'd see at the CNE every summer, the ones who would run, jump, catch, fetch, and awe the crowd with their agility. I had read then that to train a dog, you needed to have a spray bottle ready and give a good squirt every time he didn't do listen to you. So at a little over a month old, I had caught Charlie peeing on the floor, and quickly grabbed the nearest squirt bottle and sprayed. Squirt squirt squirt.

Satisfied at the confused and ashamed look on Charlie's face, and completely ignorant of my mistake, I left him alone to contemplate what he did wrong. It wasn't until later that I realized the dog smelled like vinegar.

There's a general rule Matt and I live by. I don't ask him questions, and he doesn't ask me anything. And so, instead of asking what the hell he was up to by putting vinegar in spray bottles, I decided to wash the dog before he found out.

Of course, I knew nothing about washing a dog. Rather than googling it, I cooly thought that anyone who didn't know how to give a dog a bath didn't have common sense. And I definitely had common sense, which was why a few moments later in the basement, I had a tub filled with water, and unceremoniously dumped Charlie in, using at least half the bottle of dog shampoo.

After the bath, Charlie began shaking and shivering so much that within a few minutes, which seemed like hours to me, I was convinced that I may have perhaps, accidentally killed the dog. Three thoughts ran through my head: A) I should have googled it, B) What excuse I was going to give Matt for killing his dog, and C) If this dog died my neighbours are going to think we ate him.

Charlie and I are good friends now. Today, while hosing his butt down, he gave me defeated and resigned look, as if to say, "If this is how you're going to torture me for eating grass let's get this over with so I can get back to my dog stuff."

Sometimes, when I don't see him for a day, Charlie would great me violently by the door by hugging me with his front paws and leaning his furry cheek against my leg. And its moments like this that I know that though I torture him every week by bathing him, it's this mutual torture and suffering that bonds us.

And maybe, just maybe, I have just understood the book of Philippians a bit better.

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The Cake is a Lie


After having finished reading Pride and Prejudice for the tenth time, I was again awash with a sense of misery. Misery because I allowed myself to finish the book, misery because we can't all have a Darcy (or even a Bingley would be nice), and misery because I will miss Elizabeth. Is it strange to miss fictional characters? (Probably is.)

It's the type of book that allows you to fall in love with the idea of marriage while at the same time giving fair caution that not everyone will end up in a happy one. It seems that the formula Miss Austen provides is to be sensible in all things concerning marriage. But sensible like Elizabeth, who allows herself to dream and be romantic while being realistic and sensible of the men around her.

There's a certain sentiment mother's have to their daughter's marriage. Like Mrs. Bennet, my mom does not go a day without thinking of Annabelle's wedding, and is very much determined to make Annabelle's wedding cake for her.

Being a resident expert on reality wedding tv shows, I told her that that was probably the worst idea she can have. The mother of the bride especially should not be doing any work on the day of the wedding except cry and coddle every bit of attention people give her. The mother of the bride should not be making the cake.

 Reasons why this is a bad idea:
First of all, wedding cakes are creatures with a mind of their own. If not pampered correctly in the right temperature, it will melt and look like a disaster.

Secondly, it has to be assembled on the day of the wedding, and I don't know how my mom will have time for this on the day of the wedding, considering the amount of attention she will be getting from everyone. And knowing my mom, she will be very disappointed if she cannot accept all this attention without channeling her inner diva and let said inner diva shine through.

Thirdly, hello, only the most obvious fact that she's never made a wedding cake before. And that Vinay's family will probably be very disappointed by the lack of grandeur this first attempt will have.

Fourthly, I am afraid for the people eating the cake. A.K.A, you, me, and everyone else.

But she's grown so attached to this idea of making the cake that I don't really want to burst her bubble by telling her why it's a bad idea. Her intention is to decorate the cake with one thousand white, handmade flowers from fondant. This was our conversation:

Me: *Apprehensive that she will put me to work* So when are you going to have time to make all these flowers?

Mom: Starting today. I will start practicing now and make one a day. By next year I should have a thousand.

Me: *Thinking that one flower a day from now until next year does not equal a thousand* Where are you going to store all these flowers and how the heck are they going to last one year?

Mom: *As if it is the most obvious thing in the world* You freeze them, duh.

Guys, disaster disaster disaster. I advised Annabelle to have a backup cake just in case, but she's also sold by the idea that my mom is making the cake for her and thinks it's cute. Cute! So guys, it's up to me to save the cake. I will buy a backup cake or have one on speed dial just incase something disastrous happens (which I know it will).

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Into Marvelous Light I'm Running

At one point over the past weekend during the JAM conference, Cicy told me that she wished it would never end. Then I looked around Faith’s house, which is where we were at that time, and decided that despite my happy exhaustion, I didn’t want it to end either.

Saturday night at Faith’s house was a pleasant, intimate environment. While Jane and I were in the kitchen making dinner with the occasional help of Swanna, Kimmy, Kathi, Daniel, and Faith (occasional because they popped in and out of the kitchen), everyone else was scattered in the living and dinning room playing Blokus, Apples to Apples, shooting each other with Nerf Guns, and to my embarrassment, passing my high score on Temple Run with my iPad. Then after everyone thanked Jane and me for our efforts in the kitchen, we prayed, ate, had worship time, listened to the message, and then the kids got saved.

For the fourth time I once again heard Ian tell the story of Stephanie’s Ponytail, the tragic story of the father and his kids at Niagara falls, the allusion to us being salmons, and finally, I once again saw the celebration with songs of being saved and taking the first big step towards a journey of a million more steps.

And at the end of this marvelous, 15 hour jam packed activity and Christ filled day I remembered by last blog post, and was reminded once again why I find it hard to relate to my coworkers. The fact is, I’m a Christian, and this is the lens through which I view life. And maybe the fact is, I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who think the same way and love the same way.

To appease my love of lists, here is a list of things I loved about this past weekend:

1) Jane

Jane is amazingly fantastic and incredibly selfless. She was in charge of preparing the food, cooking the food, and cleaning up after so I knew she had a lot to do but despite all this, every time I offered to help her she said, “Are you sure you want to?” Meaning that she would rather me enjoy my time bowling and going to Sky Zone and playing board games with everyone else.

I spent a lot of time with her cooking, prepping, and cleaning and I learned a lot from her. Things like, what the difference between dinner plates and lunch plates are (this was mind boggling), how to cube a Costco size watermelon in ten minutes or less, how to spread the food out to make the most of what you have, and a most important of all, a valuable lesson on being selfless. Thank you Jane! < 3

2) Faith’s House

Faith’s house is incredibly beautiful and spacious. But it’s not so much the fact that it’s Faith’s house that I love about it, but instead on how she uses the space. Just like how Jennifer opens up her house for everyone to use, I hope to one day be able to open up my house for everyone to always be over.

3) Leo, Clement, Swanna, Kimmy, Michael, Kathi, Ian, Faith, Tabitha, Jane, and Ben

We had a lot of people helping out, it was practically a one-to-one ratio with the kids, and I loved every single moment working together. There’s something about teamwork that gets me all mushy gushy.

4) The Cute Jammers

And of course, the cute Jammers who are so reluctant to let go of us only because they have no idea what is in store for them in the future with CITYouth. In a totally uncreepy way, I look forward to watching them grow up.




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Flopping Seals in Gay Bars

I don't know what it is about this week that has just left me completely exhausted. We had a lot of important visits this week, none of whom I actually saw, but there were apparently enough important people visiting that they rented an entire bus. Everyone was in panic mode, including me for some reason (maybe panic is contagious). We've been preparing for the visit since last week, and I was given this list of tasks to do, all of which involved a lot of walking, running, standing, and nail chipping.

So on Tuesday when I was told that half the things I had been doing were WRONG and had to be redone I nearly cried; as in, I felt my eyes water, my face flush, and my palms sweat - but for some stupid reason I still had a ridiculous grin on my face. Whatever. So we pulled through and sweated through a couple of long days.

I told Alison and Glory, who are both on my team, that after a really long day of work one day, I went home, lit my candle, and crashed; to which they just laughed at me for. They just don't understand my relationship with candles. I'll explain: Basically, last February I decided to buy a candle from Bath and Body works and I loved it so much that I splurged and bought one after the other. I am literally burning my money. But candles are comforting and smell good and remind me of all the best books out there.

After I realized that Alison and Glory won't understand my candle fetish, and after realizing that I can't understand what the hype about visiting gay bars are, I came to the conclusion that I am more comfortable talking and relating to the older people at work than people my age. It's the strangest feeling and for some reason every time I think about it an image of a flopping seal pops up in my head.

Seals are fat, blubbery, and make awkward sounds. They flop stupidly on land, opposite to their graceful movements in water. I'm a seal! I feel like one at least. When I talk to people my age I feel like I'm just making awkward noises and I become self-conscious of my fat and blubbery texture, as if flopping stupidly.

But just because I can't relate to them doesn't mean I can't laugh at them and their problems. Here's a list of problems people my age who are not obsessed with candles and think of them as seals face:

1) Gay bars
Apparently, if you are an attractive girl, going to a gay bar is a serious insult to your good looks. As Alison explained it so poetically, "Can you imagine entering a room where no guy is in the least bit attracted to you? And they all ignore you because they just don't care? It just feels so bad. But after it's ok because people start to talk to you and compliment you on your clothes and nails and stuff and call you honey."

2) Love Triangles
The best part about work is when there is work drama, and it's even better if you're not part of it and get to quietly giggle in the sidelines.

3) Rotating Schedules
No, not a rotating work schedule, workout schedule, or any other type of self-improvement schedule. Rotating schedules as in going out with a different girl or guy (depending on your gender) everyday of the week. When I heard this I was like, What? People do this in real life and not just in How I Met Your Mother? And you're asking me to be Tuesday on your calendar? This is probably more exhausting than work.

And that's all the problems I can think of. But one problem I don't feel like an out of place flopping seal at is when random guys stalk us. As in:

Today I was helping a guy pick out the right lampshade to go with his lamp and after half an hour, I ran into him again. My other coworker asked if she could help him, and he said motioning to me, "No, the she can help me." I didn't think it was a big deal but my coworker pointed out that the guy had a crush on me because of the way he rejected her. I brushed it aside but then I noticed that he kept on popping up out of random corners where I would be. This guy was stalking me! Whatever, he didn't follow me home, so it's all good.

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