5:37am: I am on the bus heading to work, catching up on Facebook and Instagram. Shockingly, nothing exciting has happened since 10pm when I last checked. I like reading updates from people who post inappropriately personal thing on social media. Their lack of social appropriacy gives my life the illusion of being somewhat more in order than theirs. I like to sit near the back of the bus so I can lean my head against the window and just scroll mindlessly. This early in the morning, it’s easy to have my own space on the bus, but later in the day when it’s busier and louder, I usually opt for music instead of reading anything on my phone.
6:21am: I am desperately trying to skim through a novel that I need to be prepared to discuss in class. It’s The Truth About Stories by Thomas King, and so far it is my favourite reading for that class. Nonetheless, I have left the reading until the morning of the due date, and am now using my work time to read enough of the book and online summaries so that I can sound like I know what I’m talking about. I’m sitting at the desk in the fitness centre in Saville, and I have my breakfast and all of my books and notebooks spread all around me. I love this desk because there’s so much space, and I love working at South Campus because there’s only one staff member on at a time, so I can read or study or browse online without anybody talking to me or any fear of judgement for what I am reading. (Except patrons, but they don’t count because I like when they see me doing homework as they always seem impressed.)
6:55am: Shockingly, I’ve gotten distracted. Somebody posted an article on Facebook about the controversy over the movie Me Before You. I haven’t heard about this book or movie before, and I am intrigued as to why someone has shared such a scathing remark about it. As I’m reading, other people must been too, because comments start appearing on this post. People are fighting and viciously whipping their opinions at each other. Things are getting intense. I’m sitting in our new (very comfortable!) office chair with my eyes glued to the computer screen. The quiet noises of light chatter and squeaking machines and the occasional bang of a weight at the fitness centre have become white noise to me. Reading the aggressive comments is much more appealing than going back to The Truth About Stories.
10:40am: I like sitting by the window in this classroom (HC 1-15) because it looks out onto the river, and I find that I’m able to stay more focused when I can take a few seconds to look out the window at the green, and take some deep breaths. Especially for a three hour class, this is really important to me. As I’m sitting here, I think about how I actually really love reading outside and how I don’t do it nearly enough. Why not? I guess because I can’t see my phone or computer screen very clearly in the sun, but why does this stop me from just taking a book outside? I should make a solid effort to try and do this. Perhaps this could be my “fun reading” time -- half an hour a day in the park across the street from my house.
5:45pm: I’ve been babysitting since 5pm. The six year old did his home reading with me today, and he had chosen a book about penguins at the zoo. All of the penguins had gone off in pairs (a male and female) and had babies, except for two male penguins. They loved each other, but still wanted to have a baby. They found an abandoned egg, and took care of it until it hatched, and then they fathered the baby. I’d never read a children’s book that had same-sex protagonists, and I loved it. The kids didn’t blink an eye or question the relationship at all either, which speaks volumes about how accepting kids inherently are, until taught otherwise.
7:49pm: “If you don’t stop rolling around and put your pajamas on right now, you’re not going to have time to pick a story!!” I’m bluffing, as I am every night when I say that, but it’s enough to get this six year old self-motivated to hurry up. I would never punish the kids by taking away their bedtime story, mainly because I know they would punish me more by climbing all around their room and refusing to settle down or sleep. Storytime is a time when we cuddle in the three year old’s bed, one kid on either side of me, and we let our brains quiet down and get ready for sleep.
7:58pm: Why do children pick the same stories over and over again? The six year old drops the heavy compilation of Disney Pixar stories into my lap. I could probably recite The Incredibles Save the Day from memory. The three year old chooses My First Encyclopedia and eagerly flips to the page titled “Making a Baby.” I’ll read it, but I’m not answering any hard questions. Save those for mom and dad. As I’m reading to them, I keep thinking about how I should go and find all of my favourite childhood stories and bring them for us to read. Bedtime stories with the kids is the closest thing I get to reading for fun, so I should take advantage. Sometimes they’ll be reading a chapter book with their parents, and I’ll get to read a chapter or two of that to them. This is a really different type of reading, because while we are still reading in their room, we are all in different locations than we would be with a picture book. The older one is tucked into his top bunk, and the little one into her bottom bunk. I am sitting across the room by the dresser, reading by the light of the lamp. The room is darker and the kids are more positioned for sleep. There are no pictures in this book, so their imaginations are free to create while they close their eyes. I get as invested as they do in the stories, and when I finish a chapter and they ask me to keep going, I find it difficult to enforce bedtime.
8:15pm: I tuck the six year old into his cozy top bunk, and I see some books next to his pillow. I ask him if he’d like me to put them away, but he shakes his head. “After you go downstairs, I use my flashlight to read my own stories.” I nod in approval. Good, I think to myself, do that now while you can, before the demands of life crush you and instead of falling asleep reading, you fall asleep crying. I used to love reading in bed, I would stay up late because I just had to finish that book. At summer camp one year, we had to go around the cabin and share our favourite part of the day. I didn’t hear a single word that anyone else said because I was so caught up in my Mary Kate and Ashley mystery. (Because once upon a time, they solved mysteries, I guess.)
9:00pm: I have a very specific spot in the kitchen when I am doing homework while babysitting. Even if I’m reading, I force myself to sit there rather than the couch. It’s on the left side of the island, near the fridge. I turn on only the lights above the island and keep the larger lights off. I like to play music in the background, usually a study mix from 8tracks. I am still reading The Truth About Stories, but this time much more closely as I prepare to write a response on it.
10:15pm: I lay on the couch for the last few minutes before the parents get home. I am back on social media catching up on what everyone has been up to this evening. I have my laptop on in the background playing The Office. It seems like whenever I lay down on this couch and pull the heavy knit blanket over me, my body wants to fall into a deep sleep. I used to think I could get school readings done like this, but time and time again I proved myself wrong which is why the island is now my designated homework station.
11:13pm: I have finally exhausted social media, and I turn my phone off and roll over in bed. I’m hugging my stuffed dog, and I start to wonder if there is some greater psychological meaning behind sleeping with a stuffed animal as an adult. I roll back over and click to Google. A few taps and swipes later, I’m reading an article written by a 33 year old man who still sleeps with his stuffed tiger. Maybe I’m not so weird after all. Of course, at the end of that article is a recommended list of other odd articles that I might be interested in. Wow, they really must know me well to think that I would love nothing more than to read about ways to prevent my skin from wrinkling, even though I can barely keep my eyes open and I’m only 22.
11:51pm: Still reading. When the clock strikes 12, I have to turn my phone off and go to sleep. “23 Signs That You Were Born in the 90’s” can wait until tomorrow. Sleep is important. Although, maybe I should google some articles to back that up…
