"This routine sufficed for her..." ~ Jane Eyre

My Morning Routine

My eyes open to the sun hitting my golden colored walls, giving me warmth even though I rise to leave the warmth of my bed. I turn towards my nightstand, where my cell phone beeps; its alarm set to 5:45am. From this position, I glance at the Egyptian prints on my walls, wondering what it would be like to be a curator of an art museum instead of an English teacher. I am sure it is more glamorous, so I exhale a deep sigh as my body lifts itself from my bed.

After my hot shower, I wrap myself in a peach terry robe and head into the library. I turn on my desktop computer, coo at the picture of Jack and his apple cheeks on my wallpaper, check my email, and read Chaz's latest blog entry.

Entering the bathroom once again, I twist my curls into banana curls and dry my hair. I always say I want to lay out my clothes the night before work, but that never ends up happening. I go to my closet and look at the assortment of blouses from Ann Taylor loft, pants from the Gap, and blazers from New York and Company, wondering what is best to coordinate this morning. I have certain rules when it comes to clothes. I refuse to wear the color grey after March 1st, I wont wear a skirt to work that is above my knees for reasons that are obvious when it comes to teaching senior boys, and I never wear all black because I find it quite morbid to do so.

After dressing and applying MAC makeup in various shades of taupe, green, and beige, I place my jewelry on. I then grab my tan colored Calvin Klein jacket; its so warm its like wearing a built-in down comforter outside. I grab my Coach attache case, a gift from my sister Missy when I started teaching six years ago, as well as my rose-colored handbag, and head out the door.

Once I hop into the SUV, a new set of the morning routine begins. I make sure the seat warmer is put on immediately, and then I make sure that the radio is turned on to Morning Edition on WNYC. I love the voices of Steve Inskeep and Sotirious Johnson and have confirmed that their faces are as handsome as their voices are. En route to work, I blast the volume of NPR. The drive is about twenty minutes.

Five minutes before I reach the school building, I stop and get my coffee at the bagel store. I know all of the workers behind the counter, so I smile and whoever is next to help me goes to reach for the medium sized coffee, adding three Splendas and skim milk. I will either have a plain mini bagel to go with the coffee or a banana.

Hopping back into the Vue, I relish in the last moments of quiet for the morning. I enter the parking lot into my spot - # 127. A very lucky number indeed. The walk from the car to the door hurts because it is so cold. I get into the building and soak in the heat. Walking down the hallway to my classroom, I say good morning to students who are half-asleep, drinking Dunkin Donuts coffee. Good that they start early, the brain in my coffee-addicted body thinks.

I enter my classroom, room 114, and check the clock. I have about fifteen more minutes to myself. I hang my coat in the closet, get NPR going via the WNYC website, and sit down to listen to more NPR as I check the Times online. I sip my coffee as the noise from the hallway increases, indicating that my class of 28 teenagers shall be arriving shortly. I take a few more sips of coffee, and then the bell rings. The solitude of the morning is officially over, but I am quite content.


The Morning Routine of My Alter Ego, Aimee

I wake up as the sun enters the bedroom, reflecting off of the white walls. It is spring, so the warm breeze enters through the French-shuttered windows in this French cottage, located just outside of Paris. I turn towards my wooden nightstand and grab the novel that sits there, staying in bed for a half hour to read under my blue and white bedspread that looks like a china pattern.

Rising from the bed, I make my way to the white-tiled salle de bains and run a hot bath in a claw-footed tub. I soak for an hour in lavender-scented bath salts. After wrapping myself in a huge yellow terry bathrobe, I go downstairs to my library. I turn on my laptop, coo at the photo of Jacque and his pomme cheeks on my wallpaper, check my email, and read Charles's latest blog entry. I sit for a while more and read the Times online.

I go back into the salle de bains and place my hair into a ponytail. I step into my-walk in closet and grab a pair of jeans and a cream-colored twin-set. I brush some loose powder over my face, champagne eyeshadow over my eyes, mascara on the lashes, and a dab of lipgloss. I grab my Burberry jacket, my helmet, and small black leather backpack and head out the door.

I place the backpack on my shoulders and place the helmet on my head. I mount my VESPA PX 150 in silver and head towards Paris, the Eiffel Tower ahead of me in in the distance.

I arrive to Les Deux Magots on on St. Germain and have thoughts about Hemingway sitting there once. I sit down and order a cafe au lait and les oeufs. After I eat, I order another cafe au lait and take out my journal. I write for a while, and then check the time. I am scheduled to meet mon amie, J.Sarah, at 11am to shop at La Grande Epicerie at the Bon Marche on the Rue de Sevres.

I meet J.Sarah and we start discussing wine, fromage, her Pink VESPA PX 150, and what we are buying today at the market to cook for dinner later on. I decide on quiche with mesclun greens and she decides to make duck confit. I choose a nice Rose and she chooses a dry Sauvignon Blanc. We both eat a chocolate truffle before noon. The solitude of my morning is officially over, and I am quite content.