There’s something I like to call “Life Math.” It’s a tricky thing. Like how you can feed a baby a small bottle of formula and they puke up like, 10 bottles’ worth a few minutes later. Or how you can have more than 20 tickets left to sell at a theatre, but you struggle to find an empty seat anywhere.

Lately, I’ve been plagued by another type of Life Math.

Well over a year ago now, I chopped my hair super short again (it’s been somewhere between chin-to-shoulder length and super short ever since I was in grade six), and somewhere between then and now I also shaved off a significant part of it, making my hair styling routine very quick, as in a few minutes at most. I wear very little makeup in my day-to-day life, so that only takes me about 10 minutes, max. Basically, I’ve got my dirty-to-diva (god, I hate the word diva) routine down to about 35-40 minutes, including breakfast and a shower.


I used to be one of those chronically early people. Like, if I had a uni class at 1pm, I’d be there by 12:20. Irritatingly early. I would be stressed about getting there on time, but then I’d get just as stressed about having to wait around so long beforehand.

Mind you, it used to take me something like two hours to get ready in the morning, so maybe my body and brain were always just over-preparing. Now that I know I can be quick, my body’s like, “Whatever! No big deal!”

White Rabbit

But let me tell you something: my brain is not cool with it. Because I hate being late. Being late for things stresses me out to the point that I will break into a sweat or want to cry (usually both) if I know I’m going to be late for something. Because I think it’s crazy disrespectful to waste other people’s time. I know how busy I am, and how many other things I have to do in a day – waiting on someone who can’t care enough to be on time to meet with me/work with me/whatever it may be is definitely not on my to-do list.

Does that mean I’ve gotten my shit together? Not yet. Somehow I am still always RUNNING out the front door muttering a constant stream of swears about the time. I’m lucky that I make it in time 98% of the time. That other 2% drives me mad.

Life Math just doesn’t add up sometimes, A.K.A. when did low maintenance become so high stress?


P.S. I’m currently well ahead of schedule for the afternoon class I’m teaching. Wish me luck.