Friday 28 October 2016

October magic

It's amazing what a difference it makes when the sun comes out. We are having a particularly wet fall this year, proving the name "Wet Coast" completely appropriate. But today is a sunny, gorgeous day, and my mood went up by at least 1000 points. The boys are cutting down trees (meaning there is another big campfire in my near future), we are meeting friends for dinner tonight, and the corgi is waiting for me to go out for a nice long walk. All is right in my world. 
I hope it's sunny in your world, too!

Dress: Joe Fresh
Booties: Old Navy


Thursday 27 October 2016

The end of an era

A shift happened yesterday. It started several weeks ago, slowly, and yesterday it culminated in a distinct moment of clarity. The knowledge that everything is happening the way it's supposed to. After so many conflicting feelings over the last three months, this newfound peace and trust into the future is magnificent.

I have been packing, going through the house and all our stuff, and it has thrust me back into the past big time. Finding my old, tattered German-English dictionary reminded me of the beginning, when I barely understood English and was too shy and insecure to say a word. I took that dictionary everywhere with me (and that sucker is heavy!), because it made me feel better knowing that I had all the words I might ever need at my fingertips. Those were the days before we had the Internet with us at all times, and the dictionary was my good luck-charm, my ticket to this new world and the people in it.

This old friend is coming with me, for old times' sake.

I'm also finding little bits and pieces of Miriam and Richard: The early years. Our age difference barely registers most of the time, because Rich is looking a lot younger than his 62 years (it's not just my love-struck opinion: people tell him that all the time). But in the very beginning, I was a baby who looked even younger than my 23 years, and Rich looked older than he does now. What an odd-looking couple we were! But love trumps everything <3

Where's the pretty filter when you need one (insert hands over eyes monkey-emoji)
Found this birthday card from 2003 :-)

Our home is filled with memories from the time when the kids lived with us: Drawings, home-made cards, photos, games. 

 The bottom picture is Pickles the pony. Lea loved that pony, and drew her hundreds of times over the years

I thought that packing up the house we have lived in together for over 13 years would be bitter-sweet. Surprisingly though, it's fine. I'm feeling nostalgic and thankful for the time we have spent here, but not wistful. Because you know what? I'm so damned excited for the next chapter!
Going through our things makes me remember our dreams and plans, and what we've always talked about: Wanting to move to cowboy-country, to live our own version of the first settlers coming to the Wild West. And now it's actually happening! I'm so incredibly grateful that we have made it to this point, and are about to realize our dream. 

You know what else I'm grateful for? That my writer's block seems to have unblocked itself. I have found it agonizingly difficult to blog lately, sitting down in front of the computer, unable to come up with anything to say. This morning is the first time in a while that the words come easily again, and what a sweet relief that is! 

Now you have to excuse me, I have a million more boxes to pack.



Tuesday 25 October 2016

Yoga progress report

Last year was the beginning of my love affair with yoga, and what a whirlwind romance it was! We met every day, full of passion and first love, rose-coloured glasses firmly in place, and everything was amazing. 
This year is different. Almost from the moment the clock struck midnight on New Year's eve, our relationship changed. 


Friday 21 October 2016

The best people

There are days where everything feels blah, and the world looks like it has a grey filter on. I've had quite a few of those days lately, where my depression is lurking in the background, following me around like a personal dementor. 

But then there are the other days: The days where you laugh until your belly hurts, where you have fun with every person you meet, where the world is bright and loving and full of promise. 

Yesterday was one of those special days. One so full of sparkle and shine, we broke into spontaneous dance parties at work, a few dear people showed kindness and support in small, but significant ways, and all I could think about is how damn lucky I am for having these people in my life. 

Yoga at work is good for the sole ;-)

The thing about being an introvert with a touch of depression is that your desire to be alone turns on you. Instead of being relaxing and joyful, your treasured alone time becomes a prison, where you get locked down with your bleak thoughts, becoming lethargic and unable to break out on your own. You want to, but you don't have the energy. The mere thought of reaching for you phone, texting a friend, and explaining how you feel is too much. So you sit there, thinking of all the things you usually love doing, and none appeal to you. You are stuck. 

But you know that it won't last. Even if it feels like it may never end, you have to trust that it will. It always has, and it will again. 

Yesterday was the day that broke the bad spell for me. As much as I may dread the thought of having to go out and be amongst people, it often is the only medicine that makes me feel okay again. It worked its magic yesterday, and it did so in spectacular ways. 
We had an extremely busy day at work, and as our parents taught us, hard work is the best medicine. It stops you from getting trapped in your head, and forces you to focus on someone else besides you. 

While being busy is good, what makes it magical is when you work well with the people around you. I like to picture us as an orchestra, all playing together to create harmony and a beautiful piece of art. Taking the unpredictability and chaos of our workplace and transforming it into order and happy patients is extremely satisfying. Doing it while joking, singing and dancing? Priceless.   

I know that many of my special people will be reading this. I hope you know who you are. 
Thank you for being awesome and bringing so much fun and sparkle into the world!


Tuesday 18 October 2016

Which wolf do you feed?

"But what about work?"
This question has been directed to me countless times over the last few weeks. Ever since we announced that we are going to move, people want to know if I have a job secured, or assume I already do. Because that's the kind of person I am: Reliable, sensible, not prone to doing anything rash, always with a plan.

(Except for that time when I dropped out of college and moved halfway around the world to live with a silver-bearded father of four. Not sensible at all.) 

However, I have been forced to admit that I don't have a job yet. Over and over, people ask me, and over and over, I have to tell them: No, I don't have a job. As of January 1st, I won't know where my next pay cheque is coming from. The way things are looking right now, there won't be a pay cheque.


Thursday 13 October 2016

Dancing on sunshine

Yesterday was a perfect autumn day: Brilliant blue sky, crisp air, and the nice sunshine that is still strong enough during the day to make the air warm and balmy. 

I spent all day yesterday burning the excess firewood that we can't leave behind and don't want to take with us. The fire burnt for 9 hours, and was intensely satisfying. The best meditation I know!
Today the rain has returned, and we keep hearing varying reports of impending storms/hurricanes (depending on the source). Let's hope the hurricane-camp is wrong.

Speaking of rain: Have you read Liane Moriarty's latest book, Truly Madly Guilty? I just started it, and I can't put it down. It's so suspenseful and gripping, I can't wait to find out what happened during that barbecue. I'm just over halfway through, so no spoilers please!  

Dress: ModCloth (no longer available); similar
Booties: Old Navy
Denim Jacket: Old Navy
Scarf: old (similar)
Hat: gift (DIY)


Wednesday 12 October 2016

I won a writing contest!

Guys, today I want to share some good news: On Monday I received this tweet:

I won a writing contest hosted by SheSavy! A couple of months ago, while in the midst of our property hunting adventures, I wrote an article comparing the search for the perfect house with the search for the perfect pair of jeans. And people liked it! I am so happy about that. 
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! 

The original article is here

Writing Contest Winner! Dream Houses & Perfect Jeans Don’t Exist

Have you found the perfect pair of jeans yet?
Me, neither. I have a pair that's close: The right wash, skinny but not too skinny, with the essential 2% spandex to make them comfortable(ish). But my bubble butt makes every pair I have ever owned gape at the waist, and I have yet to find a pair that won't do that.
For the past month my husband and I have been searching for a new house, and I have rapidly come to realize that the hunt for the dream house is not unlike the search for the perfect jeans.
Here are seven reasons why:
1. You start out optimistic. 
In the beginning, you are full of hope and enthusiasm. There are so many possibilities out there, and one of them has your name on it. You can't wait to find your dream jeans/dream home - once you've found them, you will spend every moment together, get more comfortable the longer you have them, and live happily ever after!

2. They look great from the outside. 
The first day is exciting. You enter the store confidently, sure your perfect jeans are in there somewhere, waiting to be found by you. This will be easy!
Similarly, you start out with your house hunt filled with hope and an unhealthy dose of smugness. Sure, you have heard that it is stressful and difficult, but you already found some amazing choices online! The photos look great, the descriptions sound perfect, and you are secretly convinced that your house buying process will be a breeze. You almost feel a bit sorry for the other people who seem to have such problems. This will be easy!

3. They don't fit right. 
Huh. You are two hours in, have tried at least 15 different pairs, and none of them work. In fact, they are all hideous, you are hideous, and your body is hideous. Who are these jeans made for? Is your body so unusual? Why does everything look so awful?
Huh. How can photos be so deceiving? This looked completely different in real life. The rooms are much smaller, the highway right in front of the house wasn't mentioned, and the toilet doesn't flush.
Also, beware of the word unique - unique is never good in house jargon. Unique translates to hideous/what-the-hell-were-they-thinking/you-will-hate-it.

4. Your emotions will go on the wildest roller coaster of your life. 
Every time the salesclerk brings you yet another pair, you can't help but feel a surge of hope. Maybe this time you will hit the jackpot? Your heart starts to pound, your mood lifts, and you eagerly grab the goods and put them on. And - another bad option. Your high spirits crash, and hopelessness floods your entire being. You are destined to ill-fitting jeans, and maybe you should just accept your fate and give up.
The same applies to the house hunt, but about 1000 times worse. The high hopes, the devastating disappointments, the fear that your dream house doesn't exist - they will be your constant companions, baby. Better get used to it.

5. The salespeople will convince you to get something more expensive. 
Do you know the reason why you haven't found anything yet? Because you're too cheap! You get what you pay for, and you better pay lots. Sure, you thought you could find a decent pair of pants for a reasonable price, but clearly it's not working. Try the more expensive ones, come on ... you know you want to.
The real estate agents are clever. They don't suggest a higher price category right away. Oh no, they play along, showing you properties in your original price range, keeping up friendly small talk. Before you know it, they have figured out that you have always wanted your own waterfall and private zen garden, and guess what? They know just the place. Sure, it's $200,000 above your budget, but in the end you're saving money, because you don't have to build the zen garden yourself. And isn't that money spent wisely?

6. You will question everything.
Do you like the high-waisted style? You thought you didn't, but you don't know any more. Everything you thought you like - a dark wash, medium rise, slim fit - doesn't look good on you. Maybe you actually like the ripped jeans you thought ugly before? How would you know? You have no clue what you like. Everything is confusing.
You told the agent that you don't want any neighbors. However, every house without neighbors is so lonely. But isn't that what you like?
You also thought you wanted a log home. But every log home you have seen is just so - woodsy. There's rustic, and then there is wood overload, as in wood everywhere: The walls, ceiling, floors, cupboards, even the fricking bathtub. Yet again, isn't that what you wanted? You will need to figure yourself out, finding the answer to the age-old question: WHO ARE YOU?

7. You will settle (down).
You are exhausted. You are sick of trying on the gazillionth pair of jeans, and you are definitely sick of looking at houses. You have learnt the hard way that perfection is a myth. It doesn't exist, either in denim- or house-form.
After some self-reflection, you will remember what you were looking for in the first place, and return to your original plan.
You got distracted by all the noise the clever salespeople made, and forgot that you never set out to find a waterfall.
Once you let go of the craziness, you will realize that perfection is an illusion (aren't those celebrities being sewn into their clothes or something?), and that finding something close to ideal is pretty damn awesome!


Tuesday 11 October 2016

The holidays are hard

"When's your birthday?", I ask my patient. (A standard hospital question to make sure we x-ray the correct person.)
"May 28, 1972. And still single, if you can believe it. Just throwing it out there."
I look at him more closely. Is he flirting with me? No, I don't think so. I'm getting a distinctive gay vibe from this nice, sad looking man. 
"Sometimes it's better to be single than being with the wrong person", I say carefully. 
"Maybe. But it's hard on days like today, you know, it being Thanksgiving."

I know. Oh, how I know. 
I have been working at the hospital for seven years, and I work most holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's - I prefer working to being at home. Because the people that come in on holidays are my people. Not everyone who comes in on Christmas Day needs medical attention. Some come to flee their houses for a few hours, to get away from tension and family fights. 
Others, particularly the confused elderly, are being dropped off by their family members, to be picked up after the busy season. 
The patients you see on the major holidays are often sad, lonely people. And I like to be there, to try to cheer them up, and to let them know that they are not alone. 

During the past three days, our Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, I worked the day shift. The hospital was buzzing with activity, like every year. Patients with chronic illnesses have flare-ups, more people than usual are coming in who punched something/someone, and there is a general strain in people's faces. Because let's face it: Holidays are stressful. 

The first problem is: You can't avoid them. Even if you'd like to skip the festivities, it's impossible. The media is bombarding us with images of large family gatherings, everybody being happy, happy, happy. People start wishing each other Happy Thanksgiving/Christmas days or weeks in advance. The water cooler talk is about where you will have your dinner (not if - it's assumed that everybody has a place to go to and people to celebrate with), who will be there, and to what lengths you will go to impress everybody. 

Social media is best avoided during those days, because there is an explosion of pictures showing happy families, and everyone and their dog gushes how blessed they are and how awesome their life is. 
Even though I know for a fact that you can't stand your sister-in-law, and why are you now hugging her and hashtagging #family #loveher #BFF?

Because it's a competition. We have to make sure that the world knows that we are normal, that we have people who loves us, because if not, what does that say about us?
I'm all for living a life of gratitude and counting one's blessings. Appreciating everything good you have is the best way to be truly happy.

What I don't like is forced gratitude. When I am being dictated when to be thankful, and judged by a jury of my peers if I'm doing it well enough, my inner rebel comes out. 
The thing is: Families are flawed. Every family has their secrets, skeletons in the closet, and problems. 
And we may be fine with that fact, except for the last three months of the year. Suddenly, we have to pretend that we are looking forward to spending time with people we may not like very much. Everybody else seems to love the holidays, which must mean that something is wrong with us. We feel inadequate, not as good as everyone else. It's an unwelcome reminder of  how much better our lives should be. 

But working at the hospital, I know that I'm not alone. There are many of us for whom the holidays are hard. Maybe we are even in the majority? 
Over the years I have talked to a lot of people about this. And it's astonishing what you can learn when you drop the facade of Hallmark-card perfection.

I will never forget the first time I realized I wasn't the only one who was supremely stressed out by the holidays. 
We were in the lunch room at work. Two of my co-workers were chatting about their Thanksgiving dinners the night before. 
"How was yours?"
"Oh, so nice. The kids came and the grandkids, and we had a lovely time. Yours?"
"Beautiful. We were 16 people, and everybody brought a dish. We had so much food! It was a delicious meal. I love the holidays!"

They both turned around and looked at me expectantly. We, too had had our family dinner the night before. My first instinct was to tell them something along the same lines: The kids were all there, it was wonderful, everything was perfect. 
But something made me tell the truth instead.
"I'm glad it's over. You know, I'm the one who does everything, and I was so exhausted last night, I actually sat down and cried."

One of them looked at me startled, taken aback by what I'd said. 
The other one got it. "Oh Miriam, I was close to tears, too!" She then embarked on her own tale of plans changed at the last minute, how she and her husband were supposed to go to one of their kids for dinner and were looking forward to not having to do anything, but how it fell apart at the last moment. "I had to do it at our house, or we wouldn't have had a Thanksgiving at all! So I ran around all day, cleaning, cooking, and getting it all ready, and then they were bickering throughout the entire meal and left early because the baby was cranky."

We looked at each other, and burst out laughing. I felt like a huge, heavy burden had been lifted off my shoulders. 
Not because my sweet co-worker had a stressful night. But because I suddenly realized: We are all just doing the best we can. None of our lives are perfect. Families aren't perfect. 
And just because it looks like everybody else has their shit together, it doesn't mean that they actually do.

I need to remind myself of that fact frequently. It's too easy to believe everything you see and hear. 
But remember: Under the shiny facade, we all have layers and layers of mess that we don't like the world to see. 
But maybe, when you open up to someone, they will return the favour and give you a glimpse at their own messy life. 
Don't forget: We are all in this together. 
Also: Stay away from Facebook during the holidays. 

Lots of love,


Monday 10 October 2016

Get out of your story

Nights are the worst. I wake up sweating, heart pounding furiously, worrying. The future that looked bright and promising just yesterday, now looks menacing and full of demons. 
All the what if? questions jockey for attention, creating problems and worries that aren't real. But they feel real. 
What if it's a mistake?
What if it won't work out?
What if I will fail?

During the day, when the sun is shining, my optimism is intact, and I am excited for a new adventure. I think back to all the times when I tried something that scared me sh*tless, and how everything worked out in the end. I look forward to the new adventure, to new challenges, to meeting new people and exploring new places.
But at night, it's a different story.
At night, the voice of doom and gloom is drowning out everything else. It's deafening. It tells me everything that's wrong in my life, it gloats about my insecurities, and it gleefully points out all the mistakes I have ever made. 

I stare into the darkness wide-eyed, convinced that I'm about to make a huge mistake.
Quitting a secure job, at a time when jobs are few and people who want them are many? Madness. 
I will never find another job again. I will lose all my seniority, and pension, and all the other stuff you need for retirement. I'm only 36, and retirement is far off, but why not worry about it now? 

Fear is having a field day. She only comes out at night, when I'm most vulnerable. During the day, I'm guarded by Optimism, who keeps Fear away from me. But at night, Optimism is sleeping. And Fear comes out to torment me.

This is an old pattern, one that has been with me for most of my life. I remember being 8 years old, and waking up at night fearful of the next day's piano lesson, convinced I didn't practice enough and would get into trouble. 
(I always practiced enough, and never got into trouble. But Fear harassed me anyway, because she doesn't care if you are an innocent child or a less-innocent 36-year old. She's a bitch.) 

Luckily, life-long experience with Fear has taught me a coping mechanism that works every.single.time: Leaving your head for a while.
Whenever I'm trapped in the loop of what if/this is going to end horribly, I'm taking a break from my life. Get absorbed in someone else's story for a while. Doing that is easy: Books or Gilmore Girls (other shows/movies work too, but GG is the best antidote to Fear for me. Or The Mindy Project).

Every story I have ever read, seen or heard describes good times and bad, ups and downs, fear and courage. Even fairy tales have tough parts in them, where the protagonists have to face diversity and hardship. Reading about it reminds me that I'm not alone. Life is not a straight, even line; it zigzags, peaks and valleys, and resembles much more a drunk roller coaster than a smooth sea.

Fear will always be there. I believe that every single person knows her, and has her in their life. The trick is to not listen to her too closely. Fear is a liar, feeding on our vivid imagination and deepest insecurities, ignoring facts, and shouldn't be believed.

So whenever she makes an appearance, I like to surround myself with other fighters, real and fictional, to be inspired by their example.

Every good story has its tough parts. Every new beginning is scary. But I'd much rather look back at my life and see that I lived bravely, instead of choosing the safe, yet boring path.

After all, that's what Lorelai would do.


Sunday 9 October 2016

Happy links

Let me tell you a little story: I'm at work, and I get a little peckish. Well, no problem - I'm prepared! Not only did I bring lunch (a smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich), but also healthy snacks: An apple, Greek yogurt, and a banana. I eat the yogurt first, and then figure "what the hell, I'll have the banana too". YOLO, right? I peel the banana, and eat it in a few bites. After all, that's the beauty of bananas: They come with their own packaging, you don't get your hands dirty, and you can bite off pieces according to your liking.
Well, let me tell you: Apparently I have been eating bananas wrong all my life. You are supposed to slice them! But not with a knife, oh no: With a banana slicer. Read the hilarious reviews of the Hutzler 571 Banana Slicer!

The woes of being an Instagram husband

The woes of not having an Instagram husband.

No sad obituary for this feisty lady!

This Italian grotto hotel is giving me major wanderlust.

Art and yoga are beautifully combined in this fantastic Instagram account. If you want to create images as breathtaking as Alisha's, she has a YouTube channel with amazing tutorials.

Happy Sunday! It's a long weekend in Canada, because we have our Thanksgiving tomorrow.
Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians!


Saturday 8 October 2016

Last-minute drama

The first phone call came a week ago. "Your buyer's mortgage is approved! The deal will go through!" We were jumping up and down, shouting with excitement, and hugging and kissing each other so fiercely that we barely took notice of the second half of the message: "Pending an appraisal of the bank. They will come by on Monday."

Pff, whatever. We figured it was just a formality at this point. After all, approved is approved, right?


The appraiser came. We didn't meet this person, because we were both at work. But we had heard that it usually only takes a day, and then you know their verdict. 
Tuesday came and went. 
So did Wednesday. 
On Thursday, Rich woke up with a scowl on his face and the ominous words: "I don't have a good feeling about this. It's taking too long. I hope the deal won't fall through at the last second."

"Ach, it won't!" I assured him, proving that ignorance really is bliss. "It was a done deal last Friday, right?"     

Wrong. (Again.) 

As I was at work, I saw a missed call from Rich. Thinking he was calling with happy news, I called him back. 
"The buyer is short $100,000", were his opening words. 
"Whhhhaaaaaat????", was my stunned reply. "But how? Why??"

As it turned out, the f*$%#@ing appraiser had decided that our property was worth $100,000 less than the sale price. Meaning that the mortgage they were willing to give our buyer was a few zeros short. 
"They told him that if he can find $30,000 of his own, they will give him the other $70,000." Rich told me. 
I clung to this bit of good(ish) news in this new nightmare. 

"That's not too bad, right?" I asked Rich hopefully. "$30,000 is peanuts compared to the rest."
"Yes, but only if he really wants it. If not, this is the perfect excuse to walk away from the deal."

This couldn't be happening. Not after having waited five agonizing, seemingly never-ending weeks for him to get it all together. 

The second phone call came later that day. 
Were we willing to help the buyer out? (I.e. Did we want to lower the price by another $100,000 fricking dollars?)
"Absolutely not", Rich told our agent firmly. 
"I thought so", she said. "I wouldn't do it either."

Then we had to wait. It was now Thursday evening, the last day before the deadline. We quietly discussed what we would do, how we would have to take the house off the market until next spring, and as much as that would suck, that it wouldn't be the end of the world. 
"Ohmygawd, I can't imagine having to do it all over again", I groaned into Rich's shoulder. 
"I know", he said quietly. "Whatever happens, we will get through it. We always do."

At 9 pm, the third phone call came. 
"He found the money!", our agent told us jubilantly. "It's done! He will sign the papers tomorrow!"

Can I describe the relief and joy we felt at that moment?
No, I cannot. The heavens opened, angels were singing, and there were rainbows and unicorns dancing through our living room. It was fucking awesome.

Yesterday our agent came by, and we signed more papers. She ended up staying for over two hours, even though the paperwork was done in less than 10 minutes. But we have been through a lot with her, and it was nice to chit-chat about our lives, the future, and what we all intend to do going forward.   
She shared some personal stuff, and it was really pleasant and cozy. Fuzzy feelings all around!

In June, we didn't even think of moving. 
In July, we couldn't stop thinking about it. 
On July 29th, we put our house on the market. 
Yesterday, it officially sold. 

For many, moving is not such a big deal. They do it frequently throughout their lives, never staying longer than a few years in one spot. 

For us, it's different. We both put down deep roots at our beautiful, special farm. It was the first place for me that felt truly like home. Having grown up in a small town where I felt like I didn't belong, I was searching my entire life for my place.  In 2003, I finally found it. 

Rich lived there for almost 25 years. He planted many of the trees, built the shelters for his animals, and created his own little paradise.

And yet. Our souls and hearts slowly outgrew our special place. We yearned to live slower, closer to nature (our farm is smack in the middle of a busy and ever-expanding suburbia), and in a landscape we hopelessly fell in love with: The semi-desert. 

After 13 and 36 years respectively, we are done with the rain-forest-y climate that is the Lower Mainland. We want to live amidst pine trees, cacti, and wild horses. 

With sand under our feet instead of mud. 

With blue skies and sunshine instead of rain clouds.

We are ready. 


I documented our journey on the blog, so we won't ever forget.

Thanks for following along!


Wednesday 5 October 2016

My morning routine

The other day I came across this funny post by Amber from Forever Amber. She noticed that posts about blogger's morning routine are a thing right now, and she did her own take on it. I thought it was hilarious, and decided to share my routine. Or to be more accurate, routines - there's a big difference between the mornings I have to get up for work, and the ones when I have the day off. 

Getting up for work:
The alarm rings. I hit snooze.
5 minutes later. I hit snooze.
5 minutes later. I hit snooze.
5 minutes later. I hit snooze.
After the fourth time, I realize that I have to stop this, and groan loudly that "I don't want to get up. Stupid work. I want to stay home!" Because I'm a child a normal adult in touch with her emotions. It's healthy. (ish) 

Getting up on a day off:
I'm gently being woken up by bird song and sun rays tickling my face. I open one eye, glance at the clock, and revel in the knowledge that I don't have to get up unless I want to. I immediately feel wide awake, unable to drift back to sleep. Hrumph, typical.  

While still in bed, I grab my phone. The bright display light temporarily blinds me, causing me to curse heartily. 
Then I do a quick scroll through the essentials: Instagram (who liked my photos during the night?), emails, Facebook, Bloglovin'. Ten minutes later, I finally heave myself out of bed. 

Day off:
While still in bed, I grab my phone. Since it's daylight, the display light is fine. I'm scrolling through the essentials first, but take my time and also read a couple of blogs. 
30 minutes later I finally get up, because I really need to pee. 

Coffee. While drinking coffee, I sit down in front of my computer for blog reading. I also vaguely think that I should write a post. After all, I have half an hour, that should be enough time, right?
45 minutes later.
Damn it, I have to hurry or I'm going to be late! (I started a post, but only got a couple of sentences in. Too distracted by videos announcing that Gilmore Girls will be back!!, or a cat riding a scooter. This happens way too often. The distraction, I mean - not sure about the cat.)

Day off:
Coffee. Lots of time spent in front of the computer. Mostly reading, maybe blogging, then answering emails and some writing. 
Two hours later.
The corgi is sitting on the chair next to me (she has her own desk chair, obviously), and she had enough of my dilly-dallying. She has started pulling on my sleeve, lightly but persistently. I try to ignore her, but she won't stop.  

I dash into the bathroom to get ready. I had planned to do something nice with my hair, but there is no time. So I throw it into a ponytail, slap some moisturizer on my face, then sprint into the kitchen to quickly make some breakfast and pack a lunch for work. No time to eat breakfast at home, will do so in the car.

Day off:
"Fine, I'll go with you!" I tell Lily in exasperation. I make myself a slice of toast, put on some clothes, and head downstairs, with an overly enthusiastic corgi barking nonstop and dancing around me. She's so excited for her walk, I can't help but laugh. 
During the walk, I make plans for the rest of the day: Yoga, housework, writing, cooking a nutritious and delicious lunch.  

I nip into the bathroom at work to brush my teeth before I start my shift. What started out as a one-time dental emergency, has now turned into a daily ritual. I can't seem to start work without having freshly-brushed teeth and a minty breath. Is that normal?
(Don't answer that.)

Day off:
Too tired for yoga. Need to lie down for a bit. 
One hour later.
Oops, fell asleep. It's lunch time already! Where did the morning go?

What does your morning routine look like?

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