5:30 a.m. – Alarm goes off. Startled, I wake up to slightly grating classical music, lurch out of bed, consider and reject the idea of a morning shower, get dressed and stumble to the bathroom with a sprightly cat dancing about my feet.
6:00 a.m. – Coffee is in a travel mug, bagel is shoved full of assorted food stuffs, five dollars in coins jangle in my pocket. I smoke a cigarette while staring into the persistent dark sky.
6:20 a.m. – I'm pulling into the South lot at Kipling station. The CBC news on the drive over has sufficiently distracted me from the over eager motorists demanding their way into the city. I pull up to the coin slot for the automated gates and strain out my open window to deposit the assorted change I scrounged up. Access granted, I descend underground.
6:55 a.m. – Sunlight remains reluctant. I'm pushing the button that alerts the guard to my presence. He ignores my plaintive tapping for a moment and then the green light signals to me that I may now enter the majestic Roger's office building at one Mount Pleasant. I sign in, trade my license for a security card, swipe it at a screen and nudge my way through the turnstile.
7:02 a.m. – Having donned a chef's jacket, over-sized black pants, ill-fitting safety shoes, a horrifying skull cap and slightly stained apron, I swish through the industrial kitchen, making sure to say hi to the various cooks. Carol, the Jamaican woman who dances and sings along with Flow, Sandy the young Spanish prep cook who teases me in a language I don't understand, Andy the Chinese assistant who gets to wear the cool looking black chef coat, Nigel the sous chef who plays the Angry Black Man until I'm sufficiently intimidated and then laughs at me, Michael the head chef who almost became a Marine and hasn't missed a day of work in 34 years. I come out onto the floor and am met by Donald and Norman, the grill cooks that Michael refers to as “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum”. Norman, a hunchback who fancies himself a ladies man and Vegas crooner, greets me with a poorly sung, bastardized song and soft shoe shuffle. I work with Blanca, the rotund, matronly Mexican woman who calls everyone “dear”.
8:15 a.m. – I get a 15 minute break. It's unnecessary as I really haven't done much at this point, but I drink a coffee, eat a danish and chat with Mayella, the head cashier who flits about with the kitchen and Roger's staff like a queen bee.
11:30 a.m. – I get a half hour lunch break, unpaid, but I get to eat anything I want. I sit outside, stare at passing traffic and send a few text messages.
3:30 – I'm forced to clean up and leave the remainder of shutting down our station to Blanca as the temp agency doesn't allow me to work any longer than 8.5 hours.
4:00 – Aching and exhausted, I'm finally free to do anything I want for the next 2.5 hours. Unfortunately, I have nowhere to go and nothing to do.
4:30 – I'm sitting on a couch at the treatment centre, writing a blog entry. As a former resident (they call us 'alumni') I'm granted free access to the house whenever I want.
5:00 – James gets in touch and we arrange to meet at Nirvana.
6:10 – Our meeting went long, the street car is packed and I'm speed walking up Bathurst, my piston-like legs somehow more sluggish than usual as the rain begins to pour down.
6:35 – I arrive to an After-Care session at the treatment centre and am mocked for being late.
9:30 – After-Care complete, I make my way to the subway in the hopes of resting my eyes on the trip back to Kipling.
9:34 – A Leafs game has just let out, it's standing room only and everyone is enthralled with the home team's big win. I stand beside an excitable young boy who is enjoying a rare ride on the TTC by trying to maintain his balance without the aid of handholds. He collapses into me several times with an eruption of laughter.
10:02 – I arrive at Kipling, it's a torrential down pour, my bones are asleep.
10:32 – I arrive home, stand on the porch, smoke a cigarette while staring into the persistent dark and rainy sky.
10:40 – I check to make sure my alarm is set for 5:30 a.m. and collapse into bed.
This was an example of an average day from this past week. The amazing thing is, despite being tired, I actually enjoyed myself. I mean, I wouldn't want my life to be like this forever, but for now it works; I'm making money, I'm busy and there's absolutely no chance of insomnia at the end of the night. I'm going to After-Care and AA meetings, calling my sponsor, calling other members and, lo and behold, I feel pretty good.
Some pretty exciting things have come up recently, but I'm not going to jinx them by revealing anything yet.
Next entry: The Anatomy of a Meeting.
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