My Morning Routine

I work as an international customer service agent. And, because the Earth is round and rotates on an axis and Germany happens to be on the other side of it (thanks a lot, science), I have to get out of bed at 4:00 am every morning. Somehow, I've been doing this for 2 years now, and I consider it a miracle that I'm not brain-dead from lack of sleep. The typical morning in my apartment plays out as follows:

4:00 am: Alarm goes off, playing a simple tune that fills me with groggy confusion and mild annoyance. I reach for whatever it is that's making that sound (my cell phone), stare at the screen for a moment, trying hard to remember what I'm supposed to do now. I wish that noise would stop. I finally manage to unlock my phone and push snooze, at which point I instantly fall asleep. 

4:05 am: Alarm goes off, playing a simple tune that repeatedly pokes my brain like an annoying little kid trying to piss me off. By now I know what's going on, and I'm determined to win this little game. Snooze again, sweet relief.

4:10 am: Alarm goes off, sending me into a silent rage. I curse the world, but only in my head so I don't wake my peacefully sleeping wife. I attack the phone ferociously, accidentally knocking it off the desk. I follow it to the floor with more efficiency and determination than anything you’ll see out of me in the next 4 hours. I hit snooze, and triumphantly return to bed.

4:15 am: Alarm goes off, my eyes open slowly, and I stare at the phone. It's over. I've lost. I resign myself to this fate. I sit up, turn it off and sigh, head hanging low. Why am I awake? Because that's just the way my life is. A few sad thoughts creep into my head to match my mood, like crying kittens or three-legged puppies. When will our suffering stop, little puppy? No one knows. I slowly put on my clothes in the dark, all the while staring forlornly at the warm, empty space next to my wife. I try to make myself feel better. It's okay, I think. Maybe we'll run into each other again. It's a small apartment, after all. But I know, deep down, that we won't be seeing each other for a long time. 15 hours, at least, but it seems like an eternity.

4:30 am: I'm dressed and ready to go. I collapse on top of my wife in a sort of farewell-hug/body-slam. "I don' wanna." I mumble, my face pressed against her cheek. She just kisses me and says, "half a gouda, funny," or something, then falls back into the one thing in the world I want more than anything else at this moment. Beep. I mean Sled. I mean sleep and bed. But, alas! It is not to be. I stumble out the door, and hope I don’t fall asleep on the way to work.

4:59 am: I sprint through the doors at work, clock in, sit down at my desk, and start watching the clock. Only 2 hours and 15 minutes until my 15 minute break: a nap in the middle of a hallway on the unoccupied second floor, my coat acting as pillow and blanket. 

7:30 am: Alarm goes off. Silent fury. I curse myself for staying up so late AGAIN, and tell myself I'll be smarter next time. 

7:35 am: All is right with the world. The sun is coming out and I realize that life is good. 

11:02 pm: I make a sandwich and tell myself waking up won't be so hard tomorrow. 

I know that going to bed earlier is an easy solution, but when the time comes for me to put the solution into action, I've already forgotten there's a problem. What is this post about, again?

In which Jeff's dream of being an explorer prepares him for hobohood.

Since my wife and I moved into our apartment 8 months ago, I've begun to develop some strange habits. One of them is that everywhere I go, whether on foot or otherwise, I notice places. And by "notice" I mean look for, and by "places" I mean possible areas in which a homeless person could sleep overnight without being mugged or stepped on by another human being. Now, you might think this is kind of strange. You'd be right.

I'm not exactly sure when or why this habit of mine started.  Maybe it stems from my child-like love of exploration. I love hiking off of the designated trail just to see where I'll end up, or the idea of exploring buildings that haven't been entered in a very long time.

But, since I've gotten older and moved away from the mountains and into the city, places where no one's ever been are harder to find. They have become necessarily smaller: behind that bush in the obscure little corner of my apartment complex or that little space beneath the freeway overpass.

It must have hit me one day that these kinds of places would be perfect for homeless people or drunken/stoned teenagers, because I no longer see them as places that are "untouched" or "mysterious" but rather, a place where a person could go about his secret business without being seen; where I could potentially hide from the world if I needed to. I'll glance at a place and think, "That would provide good cover from the rain, but the ground would make for an uncomfortable sleep" or, "that corner is dark enough that people would avoid it at night, plus it's close to several food establishment, which will offer a chance to obtain sustenance."

Or course, the Boy Scout in me likes to justify this strange habit: I'm being prepared. I'm observing my surroundings and preparing myself for the moment when I'm on the run from the law after being falsely accused (boy scouts shouldn't actually do bad things) of some terrible crime, or for when I get evicted from my apartment and every family member and friend within 200 miles is on vacation at once and I have no place to stay and no money to pay for a hotel.

So, you may think this is weird, and maybe it is, but we'll see who's laughing when the sun is setting and the zombies will be out at any moment and you don't know where to go. Don't come running to me, Mr. "Normal." Seriously, don't run. You'll just attract attention to our secret hideout. Just casually approach the overpass and caw like a crow so I know it's you. We'll need to stick together if we're going to survive.