Clopening: verb. The act of working a closing shift, followed directly by an opening shift. (Alicia couldn't keep her eyes open today because her manager is trying to kill her by scheduling her to work clopening shifts all week).
This is what my week looked like:
Sunday- closing
Monday-opening
Tuesday-closing
Wednesday-opening; making the 2 hour commute to Lorton to teach
Thursday-closing
Friday-opening
Saturday-Sunday- OFF! Hallelujah!
I have sleep issues anyways - I think it's something I inherited from my worry-wart mom - if residual unease is left over from her day; if there's something important happening in the morning; or, back when her children were high school-age and out galavanting/stirring up who knows what kind of mischief on Saturday nights - she can't sleep.
Alarm clock anxiety is the one that really gets me. I trace it back to the first summer interned at Castaway Club Young Life Camp back in college. I was the morning cook! It was awesome! I had to unlock the kitchen super early and get my amazing crews of high school- and college-age volunteers PUMPED about cooking brekky and prepping lunch for 600+ campers every morning. In the middle of the night once, my stupid cell phone just up and died, so come 5am my trusty alarm failed me! It wasn't a big deal (interns sleep upstairs, right above the kitchen, so someone just ran up and woke me), but every night for the remainder of the summer, I would wake up every hour on the hour thinking it was morning. On two occasions, my body even convinced itself that it was indeed wake-up time, and I got dressed, went downstairs, started warming up the ovens - only to snap out of it an come to the horrific realization that it was only like 3am or something.
And still now, whenever I have an early-morning obligation, the traumatic after-effects of my failed alarm persist in haunting me.
All this to say: my circadian rhythm is effed after this week.
I was all set to go into my little rant with the supervisor I closed with last night, about how our manager gave me the schedule from hellz this week (because complaining's fun):
"Guh. Want to know what my schedule looked like this week?!"
Sideways glance + smirk. 'Yes, pleaseeee tell me.'
Woops. Oh yeah - my supervisor also works full time at a bank, drives an hour both ways to get to our shop where he puts in about 32 hours/week, and has three kids under five back at home. Complaining just got a lot less fun.
For the most part, I'm upbeat, positive, and all that good stuff at work (not quite so much this week). But this supervisor of mine is one of the most glass-half-full, genuinely nice, 'zen' guys I know.
One day I asked him why he's always so chill and positive all the time, and he started talking about this tattoo he has. It's of this cross-legged guy juggling three balls of fire with a giant smile on his face. And that's exactly how I picture this supervisor of mine. He never really lets on that much, but I know he has a ton on his plate. But he knows what he has to do. And he just takes whatever is sent his way in stride. You guys should meet him - he's truly an inspiration in his calm, uncontrived, easy-going, but get 'er done kind of way!
'One morning
the fox came down the hill, all glittering and confident,
and didn't see me--and I thought:
so this is the world.
I'm not in it.
It is beautiful.'
(Mary Oliver, 'October,' New and Selected Poems Vol. 1)
This is what my week looked like:
Sunday- closing
Monday-opening
Tuesday-closing
Wednesday-opening; making the 2 hour commute to Lorton to teach
Thursday-closing
Friday-opening
Saturday-Sunday- OFF! Hallelujah!
I have sleep issues anyways - I think it's something I inherited from my worry-wart mom - if residual unease is left over from her day; if there's something important happening in the morning; or, back when her children were high school-age and out galavanting/stirring up who knows what kind of mischief on Saturday nights - she can't sleep.
Alarm clock anxiety is the one that really gets me. I trace it back to the first summer interned at Castaway Club Young Life Camp back in college. I was the morning cook! It was awesome! I had to unlock the kitchen super early and get my amazing crews of high school- and college-age volunteers PUMPED about cooking brekky and prepping lunch for 600+ campers every morning. In the middle of the night once, my stupid cell phone just up and died, so come 5am my trusty alarm failed me! It wasn't a big deal (interns sleep upstairs, right above the kitchen, so someone just ran up and woke me), but every night for the remainder of the summer, I would wake up every hour on the hour thinking it was morning. On two occasions, my body even convinced itself that it was indeed wake-up time, and I got dressed, went downstairs, started warming up the ovens - only to snap out of it an come to the horrific realization that it was only like 3am or something.
And still now, whenever I have an early-morning obligation, the traumatic after-effects of my failed alarm persist in haunting me.
All this to say: my circadian rhythm is effed after this week.
I was all set to go into my little rant with the supervisor I closed with last night, about how our manager gave me the schedule from hellz this week (because complaining's fun):
"Guh. Want to know what my schedule looked like this week?!"
Sideways glance + smirk. 'Yes, pleaseeee tell me.'
Woops. Oh yeah - my supervisor also works full time at a bank, drives an hour both ways to get to our shop where he puts in about 32 hours/week, and has three kids under five back at home. Complaining just got a lot less fun.
For the most part, I'm upbeat, positive, and all that good stuff at work (not quite so much this week). But this supervisor of mine is one of the most glass-half-full, genuinely nice, 'zen' guys I know.
One day I asked him why he's always so chill and positive all the time, and he started talking about this tattoo he has. It's of this cross-legged guy juggling three balls of fire with a giant smile on his face. And that's exactly how I picture this supervisor of mine. He never really lets on that much, but I know he has a ton on his plate. But he knows what he has to do. And he just takes whatever is sent his way in stride. You guys should meet him - he's truly an inspiration in his calm, uncontrived, easy-going, but get 'er done kind of way!
'One morning
the fox came down the hill, all glittering and confident,
and didn't see me--and I thought:
so this is the world.
I'm not in it.
It is beautiful.'
(Mary Oliver, 'October,' New and Selected Poems Vol. 1)
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