Lessons in Pottery

I had always judged my sister’s pottery when she gifted it to us for Christmas. Weird, small, misshapen plates that you couldn’t fit anything on. The colours were splattered and random, the texture of the glassware looked uneven. I remember once accidentally dropping a mug she had made on the floor when I was reaching for a different mug because hers was small and couldn’t fit enough coffee in it. I looked at my dad. He shrugged and pointed to the other seven mugs of hers that had somehow made their way up there and said, “Honestly, I think it’ll be okay.” We laughed and I cleaned up my mess. I felt nothing towards her pottery except this weird responsibility to preserve it and show it off because it was hers and she had made it with her hands. How did we not understand the gravity of her hard work?

Now, I look at my sister’s pottery with reverence. It’s clean and the colours compliment each other. The mugs are all even and fit a perfect amount of coffee in them. They’re functional and beautiful.

When I signed up for pottery, I wanted something to do weekly and I had missed the deadline to apply for a woodworking class to make your planter. I was disillusioned about pottery before I had started. Starting pottery, as it turned out, did not help.

I immediately resented having to be somewhere for three hours without the ability to check my phone or answer emails. I physically couldn’t because my hands would be full of wet clay. I thought pottery would calm me down, and it did in a way, but I was still mad. I could only think about what I was missing from my life instead of what I was gaining.

I signed up with my roommate who, like me, wanted to try something new and thought pottery would fill our creative voids. Between us, the two lawyers who were on their fifth series of pottery classes, and two teachers who also registered for the first time, we made a pretty one-dimensional crew. The girls were lovely and we often chatted to each other about our lives and our jobs and our feelings on pottery. I loved receiving compliments on centering my clay because it was what I lagged in. We provided positive reinforcement constantly because we were so nervous and bad at doing pottery, it felt celebratory if we did something remotely right. Only the lawyers could effectively apply what the teacher was telling us to do but they were experts at this point so it really was their world and we were just living in it. Above all else, pottery taught me to support and to accept support. Our group wasn’t tight but I remember each woman because they all spent time providing me with advice on how to fix whatever project I was messing up and to encourage me when I was doing a good job.

Pottery also taught me it was okay to be messing up constantly. My roommate occasionally got flustered, mostly because she wasn’t mastering the art as quickly as she had hoped but also if anything went slightly wrong. I didn’t understand because from the beginning I had resigned to my shittiness and leaned into my mistakes. My collapsed cup would become a plate. My collapsed bowl would also become a plate. Basically, anything can just become a plate. This, I like to think, is a metaphor for life’s mistakes too. It was humbling to be fixing your problems by redirecting and making something that was still workable and pretty.

I also learned to approach my projects with patience. The most gruelling and frustrating process in pottery is centering your clay. If you don’t centre your clay, there’s no point in making anything because it will become uneven and wrong and won’t be able to support any weight and the kiln will ruin it. This made me crazy. Centering your clay is not simple and straightforward. It’s not a cursory step you do to begin your routine but a complicated, difficult, often easily messed up part of the entire process requiring your full attention. If you make a mistake, no matter how close you’ve gotten to perfectly centred clay, you have to scrap the whole mound and restart. It can be annoying and stubborn and you can do the same actions each time and end up with a different product. I often overworked my clay in the centering process and made myself nuts by having to throw it into the recycled clay bin. By the end of my first few classes, I would have only made one or two pieces because of the number of times I had to reset my clay. This slowly became normal for me and I felt grateful for the pieces I managed to complete. It was okay to be constantly fucking up and I could still make some passable pottery.

Near the end of the last class, I learned I was mainly good at one thing which everyone was good at because it was easy. I learned to prevent each piece of pottery from sticking to the inside of the kiln, you had to gently remove the paint and glaze that covered the bottom. I did this with such tenderness and affection our teacher, Heidi, complimented my patience. I said it was probably what I was best at in the class and she agreed. While it isn’t difficult, it’s important work and it’s especially crucial to not take it for granted. Pottery had so many rules and waiting that I didn’t understand and didn’t agree with because of my lack of understanding. You mostly had to trust the instructor knew what was up and was steering you in the right direction. Along with not excelling at pottery and making peace with it, I learned to let go. Being able to let go of the idea that I was there to learn a new skill and become a better person immediately reestablished my expectations and changed my perspective of my experience. My pottery turned out fine, and I would too.

Welcome to the Midnight Launderette

Every night, before falling into a dreamless sleep, I listen to the Midnight Launderette sleepcast under the Sleep tab of Headspace. The narrator, a guy, opens with a brief description of what’s about to happen. We’re going to relax, we’re going to work on some short breathing exercises, and ultimately, we’re gonna go to sleep. He describes the people who are in the midnight launderette: Astrid, a weirdo in a long skirt who reads your star sign, a man who is likely a mechanic who is washing his uniform and his daughter’s clothes, a chill cat named Albert who lives on the dryers and an aspiring actor who comes to the launderette to get away from his huge ass family at home.

 I have listened to it all the way through a few times but only because my sleep habits aren’t sound. Most nights I pass out after the first few minutes. Occasionally, I will wake up and he’ll still be chatting away about what’s been happening at the launderette. I love the entire mood of the place and hearing the sound of the machines in the background. Each night differs slightly from the prior one. I love the people described and as a laundromat user, it’s as though I’ve been there before. Compared to the other sleep casts, it feels more authentic. I like hearing the campfire one or the one in the Indigo gallery where the man is describing different shades of blue.

I feel a strong resistance when I’m unable to get to sleep as quickly as I expect others are. Frustration and heat surface in my body when I should be chilling out. I understand this doesn’t help my cause but I feel it anyway and hope it dissipates. If I could, I’d spend all night at the launderette. As it stands, I have some sleeping to do so when I put on the Midnight Launderette and bide my time until I fade off to sleep listening to the background noise of the launderette’s machines.

Every Night

The only thing I consume after 6 p.m. is chamomile tea or hot water with lemon, honey and apple cider vinegar. I don’t feel strongly for either. I will try to limit my phone and blue screen use a couple of hours before bed and I typically have a boring book to read on my side table. It’s usually a memoir or novel. Nothing interesting enough to keep me awake.

I take a half-full dropper of CBD oil an hour before bed. I also take melatonin and my antidepressant which usually makes me drowsy. I try to shower where I wash my face so most of my makeup comes off. If I miss anything, I can get it right before I do my nighttime routine of applying oil everywhere and putting my pjs on.

I have a sleep mask, ear plugs and a sleepcast meditation playlist at the ready and my blinds are always shut so as not to let in any light in the morning. I close my door. I don’t do anything work related or that could be considered stressful right before bed. I avoid Instagram. I don’t nap during the day. I do everything short of having one of those little lavender pouches you put on your pillows to make them smell nice which would represent truly giving up the idea of an interrupted night of sleep. And still I’ll wake up at some point, open up my resting computer and add Facebook back to look at old pics. It doesn’t help.

Sometimes

If my friends are ever sad, I show them an instagram video of me doing a Beyography class surrounded by beautiful, coordinated women.

Then and Now: Buying Tickets to Shows

Now:

I wake up and look at my phone. There’s a reminder to buy tickets to a show I want to go to at 10 this morning. I get on the group chat and write that it’s the day to attempt purchasing billets to our concert. My friends ignore me and post pictures of their cats. They are, admittedly, pretty cute cats.

I arrive at work and set several alarms on my phone to remind myself to be at my desk before the sale goes live. I get a coffee and start heading over around 9:45. My friend, the intern, approaches my desk and I joke with him before promptly and rudely telling him I have serious person work to do. He doesn’t believe me but leaves anyway. I log onto Ticketmaster. There is a ten-minute countdown. I scroll through a food critic’s Twitter feed and respond to emails in the interim.

My alarm goes off again five minutes before 10. I silence it. I write more emails. I have written forty emails this morning.

It’s 10:02. Darn. I refresh the page. You are 2,547th in line for Michelle Obama tickets. Fuck. I start doing the math to determine the likelihood of getting three seats together in a large arena being the 2547th person in line. My friends text the group chat and are experiencing the same issues. We don’t refresh our pages in case we lose our spots. Another friend texts me about her place in line. Her friend managed to buy two single seats that aren’t next to each other. Success.

After twenty minutes of slowly inching closer to number 2540, the page refreshes itself to an empty screen. They’ve sold out. But they’re sorry. I text my friends who have received these messages sooner than I have. We’ve lost and won’t be able to go to this show now. I read Becoming again. It’s still perfect.

A week later I get an email from Bands In Town saying Lizzo is playing in town this summer. Two separate friends text me about going to see this concert. The cogs in my brain start to turn as we all look up three different presale codes: Live Nation, Spotify and American Express. My one friend with an American Express card taps in and the other who pays for her Spotify account has agreed to only listen to Lizzo on repeat for the next two weeks so her algorithm is updated to becoming a super Lizzo fan or something. I opt for just googling “Lizzo Live Nation presale codes, please!!!” and adding myself to Lizzo’s mailing list until I find something that could possibly be this code then lose interest and call my parents instead. They remind me of a time when you had to buy concert tickets over the phone with Ticketmaster. Lol.

Two weeks later, my Spotify friend has received an email with the code given to people who managed to trick the system. I send this code to my other friend who wanted to go. We all buy GA tickets and celebrate in our group chats.

Then:

I’d just buy them.

To Be a Good Ex

You have to move. You can’t exist in the same town anymore, it’s not helpful and the chance of running into you is too high when you still live within reach. Get fat. And not from the extra hot weight you carry around because you’ve successfully started hanging out with someone new and all you do is go out to eat and order takeout together. The twenty pounds that immediately makes you look unhealthy and like you don’t care about yourself anymore. A good ex never cares about themselves anymore because the relationship ending ruined their self esteem for life. However, if you can lose so much weight from sadness you can fit into jeans you wore in high school, do this. Your well earned weak body will deter any new suitors. Continue to wear clothes that fit way too big on your body which will further exacerbate how skinny and unhealthy you are now. Your cheeks and eyes will start to sink into your face which helps as well.

Do not pursue any activities that will give you a higher sense of self and do not make any new friends, romantic or otherwise.

You also have to age worse than you would if you were still in the relationship with your ex. This is a must. You can’t work on yourself mentally again and you can’t develop any new skills. Well, you can, but they have to be very stupid and time consuming. Download Pokémon Go and become good at that. Don’t discover new music or art and don’t become knowledgeable in anything exciting or fun.

Don’t even think of becoming richer or getting a better job. It can’t be done if your goal is to be a great ex. Don’t learn a new language or how to become a scrum master or anything that would make you more marketable on a resume. Stagnate in your career.

On a similar note, do not become more educated. Don’t apply for your Masters and don’t practice an instrument. Don’t listen to classical music or read another book. Don’t even hang around people smarter than you so their intelligence rubs off on you by osmosis. In fact, actively become dumber by forgetting everything you learned through school and experience thus far. Never invest in stocks, robot or otherwise. Spend all your money on makeup at Sephora and never wear any of it. This way you will be more broke and not any hotter.

Never move on. Don’t go on dating apps. Don’t see any of your other exes you still harbour secret feelings for. Don’t even hang out with friends or family who want the best for you and who encourage you to move on. Gross.

Develop new addictions. Not exercising or veganism but harmful to your health things. Expensive skincare. Smoking. Binge drinking alcohol and coffee. Try new drugs. You have to act like your body is worthless now so anything that hurts it will contribute to becoming the best ex you can be. Don’t look after the environment and don’t recycle. This will make you more desirable to your exes which isn’t an option if you want to be remembered as a good one.

Go cold on social media. This means no pictures of you at the beach on your vacation and absolutely no pictures of you at parties having fun. No life updates. You are, however, welcome to send cryptically vague messages through captions on Insta or subtweet people on Twitter to confuse and delight every person who has dated you. Could this be directed towards them? They don’t care.

Listen to a lot of Billie Eilish and Lorde. If a seventeen-year-old girl makes music, listen to it. Identify with it. Your problems are as real and as serious. Learn from it and develop but not so much that you become more emotionally sound or stable. Try to ask your doctor for a prescription of Xanax.

Listen to Elton John. Listen to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, then Someone Saved My Life Tonight and finally listen to Daniel. If you play these three songs on repeat, in this order, you will unlock all your best ex qualities and develop a new appreciation for Elton John (who might have been a good ex). Become gay or straight if you’re feeling that. It can’t hurt your best ex status to develop an entirely new sexuality to further become a distant memory of the past to your exes. However, and this is crucial, do not post about your new sexuality or partners on social media. You are an enigma now and any updates to the internet will undo all the hard work you’ve done in becoming the greatest ex. Ideally, they should only hear about you in passing at a party from a mutual friend you no longer keep up with.

Do You Have Milk?

Since my sister bought me a Nespresso machine and changed my life, I’ve been enjoying the wonders of coffee daily. Religiously, like three times a day. With this much coffee and frothed milk consumption, I fear what it’s done to my body isn’t good for it. Three full cups of milk a day hardly seems right so I’ve tried swinging between milk alternatives to add some variety and hopefully healthier habits to my life. Below are my rankings:

1. Straight cow’s milk:

It’s better in taste and consistency. It’s important I highlight this fact now so you don’t think I’m some insane person who prefers something like oat milk to the real thing. It’s acceptable to admit the original is better, especially when the others provide an elevated sense of self-importance for trying to do the healthier bit. Milk is 10/10. It froths the best and tastes the best and provides the chance for your espresso to succeed. It’s also the cheapest so….. I like it better.

2.    Oat milk:

It tastes like liquefied oatmeal so essentially nothing but its consistency is thicker and better than water which is more than what these other girls can say. It froths great. I also wonder if this has an unfair advantage of being newer and thus less likely to have studies done about it that disprove all its advantages but who can trust anything you read anyway. Another gift my sister gave me is the observation that anyone can prove anything with a long enough Netflix documentary.

3. Coconut milk:

Coconut milk’s fine. It sometimes has floating pieces of white in it. It’s the most watery out of these other milk types but it’s also delicious. It’s sweet but not overpowering and again the taste of coconuts pairs well with coffee. Like blue cheese and Riesling. But with espresso and coconut. Also coconut milk is cheap.

4. Almond milk/Cashew milk:

These are so annoyingly similar. Like what was the point of creating cashew milk if almond milk exists? Allergies. Okay, that’s a pretty fair argument. Their consistencies can be watery except maybe the cashew milk has a slightly creamier leg up over almond milk but it’s so insignificant it feels weird to point it out. They taste disgusting and even more basic than oat milk which is saying something and they’re expensive for small cartons. They’re more readily available at the store and at coffee shops than oat milk but I figure this is because oat milk is warming up to its popularity, at least where I live. Almond milk tastes like almonds and cashew milk tastes like cashews. Riveting. I bet you’re glad you came. Oh, they both come in sweetened flavours but it’s not worth it.

5. Hemp milk:

Never.

What It Means to Meditate

I’m okay with meditation. It’s strange for me hearing people complain about their inability to meditate because they think too much or too quickly to benefit from meditation. It’s a bit of a brag. There’s too much going on up there. I guess thinking a lot of thoughts doesn’t mean they’re all smart and good. They can’t all be winners. Which is what makes meditation useful. Meditation is for those people who overthink.

If I’m getting this right, put simply, it’s thinking of nothing. Or trying to. Sometimes. But there’s also some body scan work being done and visualization which involves thinking of people you love (and eventually people you hate) enjoying themselves and experiencing a sunny beach or something. This is supposed to give us inner peace and calm and teach us to handle frustrating situations with grace.

I started my meditation journey (barf) when my mom wouldn’t stop telling us about hers. She listened to calming music and closed the door to her room for an hour a day. When I lived with my parents, it made me laugh when I would barge in demanding to talk to her about something trivial and she would be sitting very still in her meditation/reading chair with her eyes closed and she would whisper so quietly, “I’m meditating.” I’d always be like “Fine. Cool. Sorry.” And walk out like I wasn’t impressed and I didn’t interrupt her but I was and I had. She wasn’t bothered, though. This is what meditation does for her. Here she was on a Saturday, becoming a Zen master and what was I doing? Probably nothing of value.

When she wasn’t meditating in her room, she would show us her ding-dong tapes (one or two half hour tapes of bells ringing she had on her iPod mini). She’d encourage us to lay on the couch and listen and try to only think of the tolling bells. It was boring. It wasn’t amusing but occasionally I’d fall asleep to them and this is what started a weird education on how to meditate myself.

Meditating hasn’t come naturally for me or anyone I know who has tried it. I have told myself that my stream of consciousness is too erratic while also being physically too tired to sit in silence and think of nothing without falling asleep. While I can appreciate my smart excuses for not carving out time for meditation, I have had to educate myself on what exactly it means and discipline myself in doing it regularly to fully feel its benefits. Again, it hasn’t been easy. But it’s helped to know more about what it means to meditate.

First, I disservice myself and others by presenting meditation like it’s thinking of nothing because that’s so boring. It isn’t. It’s trying to think of nothing, acknowledging this probably won’t happen because we still have to function and like, walk around every day, and quietly greeting our thoughts and feelings respectfully and letting them leave in favour of focusing on something more tangible. Like our breath. Or our steps. Or what we’re looking at or what we’re feeling in our hands at the moment or the food we’re eating. The goal isn’t to stop thought completely but to avoid resisting bad thoughts and feelings. They come to us, they happen often, and it’s alright. We mostly have to keep moving and try to be present. As ridiculous as being present sounds (because how could you be in any other time besides the present?) it’s essentially not thinking of the past and how stupid you used to be or the future and how stupid you’re about to be.

Being present is only allowing yourself to be worried about what is currently happening in front of you at this moment. This leads you to focus more on the task at hand and where you are. I used to think meditation was the solution spiritual healers came up with as an alternative to how terrible people had become. They were like “okay, we can’t ask them to be good because they’re hopeless and selfish and we’re way beyond this being a viable outcome now. Let’s ask them to do nothing and to think of nothing. This has to be an improvement.” And I still believe that.

What I don’t love about the practice is everything I’ve read or researched suggests it’s a cover all. In a way, it is, because it’s free and anyone can do it when they’re not busy. But there are many apps and subscriptions that cost money and businesses that have cropped up in cities charging you to sit in a beautiful room and to listen to a hot woman guide you through a meditation. When I asked my mom how she felt about the meditation-for-profit business model, she said she was less concerned about the businesses being evil and capitalizing on a self-help trend and more worried about people who think they have to spend money to get guided meditations. What a Zen master response. She told me about many church basements she goes to where people sit in a circle and someone puts on a tape and they meditate together. And it’s free. I’m not there yet. Obviously. But meditation doesn’t feel like the answer to every problem though it sometimes presents itself that way.

The positive outcomes of regular meditation for me have been that sometimes I sleep better. There is typically a wider window between when someone tells me something and when I react to it. Which can be useful because this break in time gives me the power to forget about what they’ve told me so I never get the chance to react to it. It makes me more compassionate for people who bug me on the subway. It makes me more aware of my surroundings when I’m walking home late at night. It makes insurmountable tasks feel less daunting and it makes me feel less alone somehow. It also makes me go slower in my breakfast making and getting ready in the morning. A bonus, I guess.

The negative outcomes are wild and varied. I told my therapist once that I didn’t think meditation worked for me because I kept dreaming about the possibility of my ex starting to play basketball and joining a professional team. She was like “Why does that matter?” and as far as I knew, he didn’t like basketball much. When I can’t sleep and I listen to three sleep meditation sessions in a row, it makes me feel like a failure. It can also feel incredibly lonely to listen to one of those at 4 a.m. when you know your roommates and everyone else on your street are sleeping. One time, when I went to visit my friend and her boyfriend, he suggested we listen to a productivity themed meditation. When done, he left the house for work and I sat and watched a marathon of Catfish. I only stopped to go to the local soup place five minutes away. So it’s not always 100% effective.

From what I gather speaking to people about meditation who regularly do it, you’re supposed to look forward to it. It’s not meant to feel like a chore and for a while, for me, it did. Now it’s something I get to a few times a week hoping it will make me feel relaxed and clear-headed and make me a better person if all goes to plan. I like the visualizations on kindness and imagining my body is shooting out laser beams of sunshine. I always think of the second last scene in Shrek (before the Shrek in the swamp karaoke and credits) when Fiona has true love’s first kiss and takes true love’s form and all the light beams shoot out of her body and all the windows break in the church. And she’s like “I’m supposed to be beautiful” and Shrek is like “but you ARE beautiful.” That’s what meditation is like for me.

Swedish Chocolate Cake

https://www.saveur.com/swedish-gooey-chocolate-cake-recipe

This is one of those recipes I’m still shocked exists. Easily, one of my most made cakes and I say easily both because I’ve made it a million times and because it’s extremely simple to make. Double word meaning. I take this to parties and to my parents’ house when they invite us over for dinner and gloat about how I’ve contributed more than my siblings when I’ve done less than ten minutes of prep work and less than ten minutes of baking which isn’t even work it’s sitting by the stove on my phone and making sure it doesn’t burn. I’ve spent more time talking about this cake than I have making it. This is a testament both to how annoying I can be and how great this cake is.

Most of the ingredients are food people already have in their kitchens (I’m guessing). Sugar. Eggs. Vanilla. If you don’t, go buy some sugar and eggs. The weirdest thing it asks you is for sifted cake flour. Before baking this cake, I never used to have cake flour but I bought it once so now I’m good to go because this recipe only asks you to use one cup of it. It’s reasonable. I’ve since learned cake flour is more finely milled flour that contains more protein than regular all-purpose flour. This cake has taught me things.

I’m pissed no one I know told me about this cake and that I had to find it deep on someone’s instagram, then the internet and it wasn’t in the same urgent way I tell my friends they have to make this cake every time I go over to theirs (holding them by their shoulders and looking into their eyes because I care about them) but instead in a lazy and neutral suggestive way like “I guess you can make this cake easily. If you feel like it.” I’m too generous to not share the wealth. So far, only my sister has made it and it’s because she got tired of my bragging about being so good at baking. She now makes a point to underline how easy it is and that it’s not impressive I’ve made this ten times for my mom and dad.

The recipe is impossible to mess up and like the sifting the cake flour, all the heavy lifting happens in the beginning of the preparation. It’s one of those steps that feels tedious and pedantic at first but once done, you realize it is not at all time consuming or physically demanding. If this cake wants sifted cake flour, then I’m willing to go there for it.

It’s also one of those rare gem recipes in baking or cooking when you can prepare what goes into the oven in the time it takes to preheat. Miraculous. To be honest, I’ve never been able to prepare something so elaborate, particularly not when baking, in the time it takes to get to 350° or 375°, or even 425°. This cakes cooks at a reasonable 400° and doesn’t force you to awkwardly rush through the last steps of your prep to avoid the wasted energy of having a fully blasted oven going with nothing inside. The first time I made this, I finished before the oven beeped. I looked up at the oven and was like “surely it must have already beeped” but it didn’t and it went off when I was thinking this and I felt like Ina Garten. Convenience is so valued these days. Mind you, on very rare occasions, I don’t make the preheat time but you can’t always be Ina Garten.

It requires you chill it for an hour, which can mess up your day if you start too late but I don’t count leaving something in the fridge as demanding work. Once I was going over to my friend’s place to meet her boyfriend for the first time and made this and didn’t leave the required hour long wait period but figured it would be fine. It wasn’t and it melted on the way there and wouldn’t retain its shape once we cooled it in her fridge so her boyfriend and I had to power through eating almost liquid cake with canned whipped cream so I wouldn’t feel bad about my mistake in ignoring the clear and simple guidelines. It worked out because it still tasted alright, just was messy and gross and now I love her boyfriend because, what a nice guy.

I watched a Chef’s Table episode (Volume 1, Episode 1 on Netflix) with Magnus Nilsson (the inventor of this recipe) and he’s basically a genius who never leaves home and whose idea of a good dessert is making jam from boiled glacier water, wild gooseberries and like naturally occurring sugar he harvests in his backyard. His outlook is pretty refreshing and low maintenance which is reflected in his cooking. His recipes share a lot of similar qualities in that they require few ingredients (many of which are staples) and the odd one or two random ones that you’d have to venture out to a specialty food store to find. I bought white peppercorns because of him. I owe him a lot. Someone who can take simple ingredients with an equally simple set of instructions makes me feel like baking and cooking are much more accessible for people who deal with mobility issues or time-sensitive schedules. That the food is universally well liked by my friends and family is the whipped cream on top of the Swedish chocolate cake. Honestly, what an uncomplicated but smart idea.

24

6:30 a.m.: Wake up after getting a perfect amount of sleep. Depending on what article you’ve read, this is either 8–10 hours, 7–9 hours, or more recently due to overextending people beyond belief, 6–8 hours.

6:30 a.m.-6:50 a.m.: Meditate. Because you’re self-actualized like that.

6:50 a.m.-7:10 a.m.: Make breakfast and coffee for yourself. Also do 100 sit-ups. And make your bed you piece of shit.

7:10 a.m.-7:15 a.m.: Tidy any mess you’ve made on breakfast. Also clean your bathroom because you have to do that once a week.

7:15 a.m.-7:30 a.m.: You’re supposed to be at work at 8 so brush your teeth, put on makeup, do your hair and choose an appropriate outfit for work and dress up in all your outdoor gear in time to jog lightly to the bus stop where you timed yourself perfectly for the arrival of the bus. Find a seat in the back and listen to a podcast on Finance while reading a book for your book club.

7:30 a.m.-8 a.m.: Be on time for work.

8 a.m.-12:30 p.m.: Work while updating the group chat with pics, maintaining your personal admin like updating your calendar for the week and grocery shopping lists.

12:30 p.m.-1:30 p.m.: Get lunch with your coworkers at the mall. Also go shopping.

1:30 p.m.-5 p.m.: Work still.

5 p.m.-6 p.m.: More sitting on the bus but occasionally stopping and getting off to pick up wine for your friend’s dinner and any other miscellaneous gifts you forgot you needed for this week.

6 p.m.: Get home. Do anything you like but also finish homework, clean up more, purge your wardrobe, pick up dry-cleaning, go grocery shopping, work out with your trainer, shower, change your sheets, do laundry and talk to your parents on the phone.

6:30 p.m.-6:50 p.m.: Journal about your day. Also your dreams, what you’re grateful for, your goals for the next day, week, month, year, your strengths and weaknesses, habits you want to break and your feelings if time permits.

6:50 p.m.-7:00 p.m.: Do a nighttime routine which includes lighting candles, cleaning, toning, moisturizing and applying serums to your face and hair. Then to your body. This is time for yourself, time to chill.

7:00 p.m.-7:30 p.m.: Read.

7:30 p.m.-8:00 p.m.: Do nighttime yoga with Adriene to wind down.

8:00 p.m.-9:30 p.m.: Have you eaten yet? Make yourself food, clean up after you’ve made yourself food because you don’t have a dishwasher. This recipe says it takes 30 minutes total with 10 minutes of prep work and 20 minutes of cooking but it’s been an hour and a half and there is no end in sight. Why would they lie about this? Vacuum while it cooks, also clean up as you go.

9:30 p.m.-10 p.m.: Work on personal projects. This is your time. If not today, then when?

10:00 p.m.-10:05 p.m.: Cry.

10:05 p.m.-10:30 p.m.: Pick an outfit out for tomorrow. Fold your laundry, watch a show, oil pull for twenty minutes to whiten your teeth and get ready for bed.

10:30 p.m.-6:25 a.m.: Listen to your sleep meditation playlist. Get up a couple of times despite your wearing ear plugs and a sleep mask and listened to a meditation playlist before falling asleep. Have a dream about your friends from high school.

A Slack Conversation with my Coworker

Coworker: fml lol
I had a dream that a guy came in to interview for the position I applied for and you and I ripped up his resume
at our desks so secretly.
LOL
T: are you sure it was a dream and not a memory that you refuse to acknowledge?
Coworker: it was so realistic
I remember it really well
the texture and weight of the paper was really heavy and then he had nothing to give Jeremy and made a bad impression
T: we’re like not only are we not hiring for this position but you need to leave immediately
you won’t be needing your resume
give it to us
now
Coworker: this is not where you applied are you high
we do not accept solicitors
we have called the police I suggest you leave the premises
T: i saw you smoking pot outside
Coworker: there is a warrant out for your arrest
T: the cops are here
Coworker: they are at every exit in plain clothes
leave now
T: im a cop
get out now
im serious
they gave me a gun
Coworker: get out with your hands up
T: im not well trained
Coworker: i am really underpaid
T: you cant leave without giving us your resume
Coworker: and have zero motivation
please hand over your cv
T: and you also have to promise to never apply to a job here again
cops rules
Coworker: we’ll know
if you do
we’re on linkedin
T: CAUSE WE’RE COPS
Coworker: cops can be on linkedin
T: dont ask our supervisors
Coworker: what you think we dont have linkedin?
you think we dont need it?
T: thats prejudice
we do still need it
Coworker: i will be reporting this
we update it every day
T: we took a picture of your face
Coworker: its like a journal
T: so we’ll know if you come in here with a fake moustache
Coworker: or a tophat
T: ya
we see through your disguises
Coworker: we have cameras and retinal scans
T: we know your fingerprints
I got it from the door earlier
no you cant have a glass of water!
get out of here
Coworker: do not have a seat
these chairs are for cops only
T: that guy over there is not the CEO
Coworker: you think we dont need to sit?
T: hes a cop
hes head cop
Coworker: he is head cop of the city
he wants you dead or alive
i suggest you leave alive
T: or dead? cause we’ll kill ya
Coworker: I will I have a gun with bullets
T: im not gonna show you
but i have it
on my person
Coworker: its behind me
and it’s loaded
T: i’ll show it to you .... when i use it ... on you
Coworker: we have a sniper you cant see
but he can see you
T: see what im trying to say?
ya with an invisible red laser
Coworker: leave your resume
T: only we can see it
its on your forehead
Coworker: and this will all be over soon
T: now its on your dick
back to your forehead
do you feel lucky?
how badly do you want this job?
Coworker: except there is no job
as i stated
before
T: the job posting is fake news
Coworker: also you are not qualified
it was a ruse
to lure you here
and you fell for it
T: haha
ur dumb
Coworker: this was a test and you failed
you will not be getting this job
T: ya to pass the test you need to light your resume on fire and back away from it slowly
Coworker: this job is about passing tests
not failing tests

---

Cold Gel

To distract myself from not saving a ton of money and from the meaninglessness of working, I have tried a random assortment of what I can only think of as extracurricular activities. They’re normally pretty expensive and just weird enough that they make me seem like a more interesting person when I talk about them at parties.

I’ve tried a doughnut-making class, baking bread at home, French classes and saying yes when my friends invite me to parties in the east end. Most recently, I have taken to this expensive ass cold gel laser facial. I first read about it on Lainey Gossip when she raved about how soothed her skin felt weeks after getting this facial. She mentioned celebrities who do it as an alternative for plastic surgery. Great, I’m in. The first time serves as a consultation when they ask about what you’re trying to get out of the whole process and why you’re willing to drop rent money on having your face prodded around with a laser with cold gel on the end of it.

Their office is in a loft which you access through a side door in an alley. It sounds sketchier than it is. It’s fancy when you get in there. Both the front desk person and the facialist had great skin. The office had many windows and natural light and their reception area was sparsely decorated.

When brought into the facial room, the lady asked me to sit on the table and go through a few questions. When I confirmed I wasn’t pregnant and didn’t have epilepsy, she moved onto more general questions about the state of my skin. We had a positive conversation focusing on ideals and my skin wish list as opposed to talking about problem areas that needed fixing. The whole procedure is about improving what’s there already. Though, she did talk about acne scarring and rosacea and how the cold gel helps with both.

At one point, I said that I thought I looked great and had good skin but I had no real way of knowing beyond the surface level and just looking at myself in the mirror regularly to corroborate. She immediately agreed and said that my skin was great. I was proud and admittedly relieved they were confident enough in their product to know they wouldn’t have to exaggerate problems in my face to sell me something. I’m looking at you, Clarisonic salesperson at Holts.

She put on a relaxing playlist and I leaned back on the table and tuned out what she was doing as she was explaining her process. At one point, I fell asleep because I felt so calm. She mentioned doing microdermabrasion on my skin to loosen the dirt and oil that accumulated from living in a big city and after this step, she put a hot towel on my face and started the cold gel laser part. From what I could tell, she has a wand dipped in this green cold gel (where it gets its name) that she moves in a circular motion all over your face. The gel smells herbal and feels cool to the touch. At the end of it, you have it all over your face and she wipes it off with another hot towel. The whole process takes about 45 minutes and you leave with a poreless, brightened face.

It’s $226 for your first time (all in, I inquired about how to add a tip and the lady shot me a look making it seem as though she thought my asking was gauche) and $200 for subsequent trips for maintenance. I plan on getting my sister her first for Christmas. This is why I’m broke. I, at least, look great.

Who I Texted Today (November 5th)

• A friend from my current job, still at my current job

• A friend from high school

• A different friend from my current job

• My sister

• My other sister

• My trainer

• Another different friend from my current job

• A group chat with my sister and her boyfriend

• My friend from elementary school

• Two recruiters

• My dad

• A friend from my current job who recently got a new job

• A friend from an old job who recently got a new job

• A friend from middle school

• A guy I hooked up with a year ago

• A friend from university

Amsterdam March 13th

In the morning, I woke up and tried to find my bearings within the Amsterdam Map. I had no food or milk so I made a Nespresso and stayed in bed reading and watching Netflix until 1 or 2. I still felt burned by the day before. When I eventually could not wait any longer to eat, I left the apartment and walked to Bar Basquiat which was this cute little cafe where locals and American Masters students were eating. The menu was in Dutch so I ordered a latte and what sounded like a New York pastrami sandwich which ended up being open faced and good. You know it’s good when it has those crispy fried onions on it. I decided to walk around until I found a store where I could pick up a souvenir and a grocery store so I could find some food for the next day. I aim big. This proved more difficult than I thought so I decided to go to the zoo instead.

It was a Sunday so everything was closing at 5pm (fair) and I couldn’t figure out that the entrance to the zoo was at the farther east corner of where I was. When I eventually got there, it was too late to do anything cool so I walked around for a bit and stopped and watched the flamingos. 10/10. I wanted to go to Microbia but this would have to wait for another trip which would have to wait until I wasn’t poor from this trip.

I kept walking around and the sun was setting making everything look pretty but I still needed groceries so I walked to an Albert Heijn nearby (kinda like their Loblaws if they were smaller and more classy.) I was a bit overwhelmed mostly because I can’t read Dutch. But I bought some mango smoothie thing I thought was orange juice, some fluffy buns, a cucumber, oranges and bananas, some chocolate and some milk to put in the Nespresso in the morning. I was pleased with myself for having the wherewithal to have cash on me. I walked around a bit more before feeling light headed and light headed back to the Airbnb. I put the stuff away and got dressed again to go to Terry and Jake’s place to have pizza for dinner. I picked up wine on the way and took the tram over, a straight shot to theirs. We ate and chatted and drank wine and I took another Uber home. This guy was way less chatty, thank God. I stayed up a bit later watching Netflix but knew I had to sleep because I had plans to go to a class at the university for a program I was looking into the next day.

When I woke up, I took it easy and stayed in bed and ate some buns and oranges and espresso. I finished off some reading and took a shower and got all ready for class like it was my first day. The tram to the school was fast so I got there with time to kill. The campus is right on the canal so when I came out of the building’s bathroom to wash my hands, this giant window overlooked the back of a restaurant with a patio and these three tourist-looking guys looked over at me. Not sure if they could see anything with the window reflection but it made me laugh a lot.

I went into the class and introduced myself to the TA and this American student and everyone was nice and largely ignored me. The class was sitting around this big conference table and working away on their computers or on Instagram. They did presentations on their projects including maps and measuring social media metrics. It was intimidating for me even though the class was being collaborative and nice. They encouraged each other and asked questions about their projects. I saw the American student had colour-coordinated notes and to-do lists when I was creeping her binder.

It got a bit passive aggressive at times and reminded me of work. Which can be passive aggressive. We finished early and I thanked the prof who was from New Hampshire and smart and nice. Because I was leaving early I had some extra time before my dinner reservation (for 1) at RIJKS, the restaurant attached to the museum. It has a Michelin star. This felt like a first. I walked around more but realized I couldn’t just waste time by walking so I wandered into this little bar on a corner somewhere near the museum. I was nervous at first because it was divey and weird and had peanut shells all over the floor and two old guys chatting but the bartender was hot so I committed. He also looked like he was 20. He was 18. I saw they had Palm beer so ordered one and took out my postcards and wrote to friends back home. I finished my thank you card for my Airbnb host. I finished my drink and the bartender came over and saw my ID was from Ontario and he chatted to me about how he went to high school in Ottawa. I was excited a blond boy was talking to me. Sad.

We had been chatting for a while when I realized I was late so we had a long drawn out goodbye which had me walking in the wrong direction to get to the restaurant. I was already late so I doubled back and kept walking until I saw the giant museum and went under the giant pass towards the back where the I Amsterdam sign is. I ran in right at 7:30 on the dot and gave the host my coat. He gave me a coat check ticket and we walked in together pretending like I hadn’t just run the last five minutes. I told him I was honoured to eat there and he responded “No! Don’t be. You’re always welcome here.” Lol. I sat down and this guy in a suit came over and started talking to me in English really quickly. I ordered a dark and stormy and some water and they brought over this single piece of avocado dusted with this brown stuff on top of a bed of inedible mushrooms. Edible mushrooms may have been too on the nose.

I ordered a few great things like this little mussel and maybe scallop-filled dumpling in a green sauce. This other dish had asparagus and nuts and goat cheese. It was always going to be weird eating alone at a fancy spot. Everyone was with their friends or having a business meeting except one guy who was on his computer but he might have worked for the restaurant so he gets a pass. All the servers were young, professional and super relaxed. I got a couple of texts which took me away from being a loser in peace. I finished eating and payed so I could walk a little north to the Red Light District to see what was going on there.

I’m bad at directions so got lost on the way but once I found it, I was relieved to have it knocked off my list of things I felt compelled to see. I felt weird staring at young, almost naked women through windows while walking alone. They did at some points seem like they were having fun scrolling through their phones. Millennials. It started to rain so I headed back to the Airbnb. I passed a few cheese and dessert shops on the way that I wanted to visit but they looked too full of people. This was an alone night. I saw a tattoo shop and debated getting a small one for fun but this feeling passed quickly. I must be maturing. I found the right tram home and chilled once I got in.

My stomach was doing all sorts of flips and turns all week so I liked being at the Airbnb so I could be close to a private washroom at all times. The next day was a Tuesday and I got up earlier than normal (9am) to pack up my shit and go back to Terry and Jake’s for my last night and eventually the Jessie Ware concert. I organized my time well and was out right on queue in the morning. I trammed over with my stuff to their place and had a quick coffee with Jake (Terry was at work again.) We made plans for my day. He made his recommendations and I was off. I saw these cute shoes in the window of a store nearby their place and walked in and chatted with a sales guy who physically put them on my feet and buckled them up. It was romantic? I bought them, obviously, and he kept them at the desk so I could pick them up on my way home.

I tried taking the tram again but decided to get off to try to locate this magical store I had found earlier in the week where I was able to load my tram card, buy stamps AND send my postcards all in one go. I wasn’t able to find it so I bought a bagel instead. I walked a bit more and eventually got to the RIJKS museum. I hadn’t had enough of it when at the restaurant of the same name, so I asked Jake if it was worth it. He had no opinion. As someone with a lot of opinions, I respected this take.

Once there, everyone who worked there kept reminding me they closed at 5 and it was already 3 and was I sure I wanted to pay for the price of admission to only be there for an hour and a half before they ushered everyone out. I guess it wasn’t obvious that I am uncultured and don’t like to hang out in museums for over an hour. It’s not that they start announcing that people need to leave at 5 but they will personally make you leave at 4:50 pm to make sure the place is empty by 5. So efficient. It was a huge place, though, and the floors were organized by date with the oldest art being on the bottom floor. Smart. It was beautiful and crazy. I put my earbuds in and walked around. I saw this giant Rembrandt painting and all these other beautiful ones. I loved it. By the end, I was feeling a bit tightly wound and pressed. I can only be inside a museum for so long. I was also thinking about the shoes I needed to pick up before the store closed by 8 or 6 and I wanted to go to this fancy hotel bar I had seen a couple days prior.

Once 4 hit, I left and walked to Tune or Tunes in the Conservatorium hotel. It’s the kind of place that has doormen at multiple entrances so you know it’s out of my price range. The server was nice and Dutch and she recommended I try these gin and tonics that come in these huge glass goblets that look like fish bowls. I ordered one with Dutch gin (on brand), oranges and a bunch of cilantro which sounds weird but tasted good. I must try putting a handful of cilantro in all my drinks. I hung out at this fancy bar for an hour or so and listened to this American guy talk to the servers about Coachella.

I paid and left and walked through their fancy shopping street by the hotel to Vondelpark where I felt comfortable and like I knew my way around. I picked my shoes up and realized I still had a postcard to send and bought a stamp and dropped my postcard off in one of their orange post boxes. I couldn’t understand which slot to put the card in so I guessed. It was pretty exciting using one of those like a local. I went back to Terry’s and started packing up my shit and took a shower in preparation for the night ahead. I knew I’d be leaving early the next day. I took the tram to the Paradiso and waited in line to pay for a temporary membership fee and I checked my coat (and paid a Euro by debit card, lol) and walked in as Jessie Ware finished her first song (I’m guessing, who knows what number song it was.) Everyone was so tall there so I stood up on this riser next to the light booth with a bunch of other regular sized shorties. There were so many lesbians there. At one point Jessie Ware called these two ladies onto the stage and one of them proposed and it was so sweet, I teared up a bit. After this I got a beer. The show ended and I grabbed my coat, some cash and bought a shirt from the merch spot.

I texted Terry because they wanted to meet up for a drink for my last night but we were tired so when we met up we decided to head back to their apartment to eat leftover fajitas they made for dinner. It was nice of them to have made so many fajitas. Terry made whiskey sours and we stayed up late talking AGAIN and we all went to bed yawning. I made sure I had packed everything and left all the pot I had bought there. In the morning, I woke up at the same time as Terry and got ready to leave. She left for work so I hung out with Jake and had coffee before leaving for the airport. I had an easy, fuss-free bus ride and managed to pick up a croissant from Albert Heijn before getting into the airport itself. I checked in with time to spare so I went to the McDonalds in the lounge and went to another Albert Heijn to use up my last Euros on water and chocolate.

I waited at the gate for a minute and boarded. The flight was longer but felt shorter which never happens when heading home. I got in and took the subway where my dad picked me up and brought me to my sister’s.

Unemployment for the Unencumbered

After three years working a fulfilling and exciting job with an organization I loved, I was politely told there was not enough money in their budget to justify my position there anymore. I was upset but ultimately understood where they were coming from and at least could somewhat get their need to cut costs and primarily focus on their most important roles and programs. To be honest, I was aware of my dispensability and was grateful for the time I did have there as I learned a lot and loved my coworkers. This layoff left me a shit ton of time to think about what I wanted to do next and to apply to jobs that fit my skills and experience. As an adult, I had never had an extended period of time off from work besides like three weeks I spent in South Africa for my brother’s wedding. While I was nervous about the prospect of not having anywhere to go in the morning, I was mainly concerned about how new and different it felt to not go to work while not being on vacay. My ideas of unemployment were judgmental and weird and I figured if you were mentally and physically capable of it, you had to go to work everyday. Lol, groundbreaking.

It’s worth mentioning I had money saved, an RRSP I couldn’t figure out how to transfer to my bank, parents who would bail me out of any and all financial binds if needed and I pay very little in rent. The reason my unemployment was stress free and fun all the time was because I had time to apply for jobs and interview, no children to support and am privileged. I realize a large majority of people were probably not experiencing being let go from their favourite jobs in the same way I did.

I spent the first week having one chore or large goal I tried to achieve before the end of every day. Most days this chore was to grocery shop and make myself dinner but I also managed to read a couple of books and renew my health card which had been on my list for a while. Instead of putting it off longer, I had a late breakfast, bought a coffee and waited in line for maybe half an hour on a Tuesday afternoon and had the remaining evening to do whatever I wanted. My bedtime changed to whenever I finished watching Breaking Bad with my roommate. I got up between the ideal hours of 10 and 11 am every day and felt the ease and comfort of laying in bed until I was so hungry I needed to force myself to make eggs and bacon and toast and half an avocado. The breakfasts alone make being unemployed an experience to remember. What other time besides then would I have managed to finish a carton of eggs a week?

Whenever my parents needed someone to fix something at their house or be somewhere in their stead, I was tasked with doing that. Normally I’d bring a book and buy a coffee and make a solid half day out of it because I genuinely had nothing better to do. Other times, my sister’s boyfriend would tag me in to babysit their 9 month old by taking her to the park so he could get chores done around the house. This gave me more time to bond with my niece and get to see what it was like for parents to take their kids to the park in the middle of the day. We mostly chilled on a blanket and watched kids do their day camp activities. Occasionally, she would stray from the blanket to go look at a dog but people were generally pretty nice to us and it was all footloose and fancy free. Everyone at the park in the middle of a weekday in the summer is happy to be there and we were the poster children.

Most days I spent at home, applying for jobs and actually reading the job descriptions instead of hastily firing off 5-6 applications in a row to job postings with the same job title. Whenever an HR person asked me to make room in my schedule for a phone screen or in-person interview, I was able to take any slot they had. I wasn’t pretending to go for lunch and instead chilling in the back lobby of my office building because it was quiet, cupping my phone so close to my face in case someone from my work walked by and overheard me talking about salary expectations. I wasn’t working full days staring at a computer screen and coming home only to stare at a different, smaller computer screen to complete my various work applications. I was thoughtful and methodical about the work I was applying for.

I spent a normal amount of time inside and went on more walks than I can compute. Everyday I walked somewhere because it was free, usually nice out and again, I had literally nowhere to be. And if I did, I’d walk there. I didn’t have a metropass (a necessity for me since I work downtown.) I made my own lunch and dinner every day. And they’d be good. I’d spend time finding a recipe, finding all the cheapest places to go to buy specific ingredients from that recipe then I’d spend a couple of hours shopping and cooking and by the end of the day, I’d have enough food to feed myself for at least a couple more days.

I know this sounds dramatic, but I also became a better friend. With my spare time, I contacted a list of people I had lost touch with who I wanted to make an effort to see once that summer before we got too busy to keep staying in touch. Because I wasn’t doing anything interesting besides, like, enjoying my life, I had nothing exciting to talk about during catch ups with these friends. I asked thoughtful questions about their lives and never once felt compelled to talk about how much I had slept that week. I was also able to visit my friends on their lunch breaks at work. I never needed to go downtown because the only reason I ever went was for work or going out after work so I was once again in a position to head down there. I met my friends for a bit, didn’t keep them too long from their works and either hopped on the subway or walked an hour back home when we were done.

I became creative with how to spend my money (so I, like, didn’t) and basically thought up every free thing I could do in the city. Most of these are repetitive and can feel like more trouble than they’re worth but being temporarily sort of broke encourages creativity. You have the time to think up interesting shit to do and then you have the time to actually do it.

I flossed every night and had a nighttime routine. I did everything I promised myself I’d do every day if only I had more time. I don’t think my thoughts on this are particularly insightful or smart but our collective obsession with work and finding our life’s purpose through work baffles me. I understand it’s what we do for most of our waking hours. And the rest of our life does tend to centre around preparing for and winding down from the work we do.

Instead of adopting Finland and other Scandinavian European countries’ work customs about working less but more efficiently because you’re sleeping more or have more of a work/life balance, I want to not work ever. This is a ridiculous thing I’ve said to my bosses in the past when they’ve asked me what I’m interested in doing long term for the places I’ve worked. There is a moment of surprise and eventually a short lecture about how I have to contribute to the world in some way and can’t just unsubscribe from life. But in between these two reactions, occasionally I’ll see a flash of recognition in their faces. They know what I mean. They also love to not work and would appreciate the time to rewatch all 5 seasons of Breaking Bad with their roommates. But no one can ever admit this. As an aside, if you happen to be a potential employer, please disregard this writing. I love working and am as career motivated as they come.