"I want life to be simple again," she says, while wondering if it ever actually was. "I'm so tired.  My therapist says I'm bored, and while there is much truth in that statement, it is so not that straightforward."

I'm too tired to expand on these musings but now that I have my room set up in a way that kind of works (for now), I can see myself writing more.  Not necessarily here, but I will be writing somewhere.  I'm enjoying the feel of keys beneath my fingers again. Therapeutic, the muted click and rhythmic, mindlessness of typing.  Thank whatever/whoever for spellcheck because I no longer care to backspace. Get it out and clean it up later. 

For now, goodnight.

Opportunities and possibilities.

I've never enjoyed packing. Whichever form it takes, it always includes a tremendous amount of stress. What if I forget something that I desperately need?!! It's gotten to the point where I want to keep special suitcases packed all the time; the overnight bag, the weekender, camping must-haves. Sure, I'd have multiples of everything - contact solution and cases, shampoo and conditioner - but I'd also always have everything I needed.

Or, I could give myself the time I need to prepare.

I've been packing for the past two weeks, now. I should clarify that I started packing two weeks ago, packed for about 3 hours/day for two days, between hour long breaks playing facebook games. Not overly productive, really. Not even remotely enjoyable. It's my typical way of packing. Start early so I feel okay about myself, then leave everything else to three days before d-day. A flurry of stuffing random items into random boxes and labelling them as 'miscellaneous', and - poof - I'm a soggy pile of tears and anxiety with years of living with boxes that I won't open because I don't want to have to organize their contents! Magic!

Yesterday and today have been good packing days. Wolf enlisted help in getting the big pieces of furniture out to the truck and into the storage unit while I've packed and done laundry. We have two weeks before we have to be out of this place so there's not too much pressure. We're keeping all of our necessities packed separately so we can still use them before taking them to our temporary digs. And somehow, for the first time, I'm actually having fun... okay, fun isn't the right word, but when I take a break, I can see what's been done. It gives me the motivation to keep going. It's fun-ish.

Back to it...

Steps and Phases

Looking back on my life, I see cycles - ever repeating, morphing with each turn. If I were to define it as a shape, it would resemble a spiral. I live from experience to follow through to lesson to experience - coloured by lesson - to follow through to new lesson.

It’s human nature, I think, to feel discontented with our lives. We want more money or less weight, more time or less work. We wish we hadn’t squandered our youth… Something is missing and we’re aware, on some subconscious level, of that void. This feeling heralds the beginning of my cycle, if cycles had beginnings, and the Dissatisfied Phase is born.

When I start feeling ungratified by my life, I hide in my addictions. If I have no addictions handy or convenient, I’ll create one. This avoidance encourages more unhappiness, which spawns yet more need to hide. Eventually, all of my ‘spare time’ is eaten and I’ve nothing to show for it. Then, all time becomes spare time.

Once the Avoidance Phase is well and truly established, it’s time to move on to the Recognition Phase. I’m really unhappy, tired and hungry. I have coffee for breakfast and snack on cigarettes all morning and afternoon. I eat once… at dinner… if something is made… not by me. I miss my family. I’ve fallen behind in all of my work. Denying and avoiding is no longer an option. So, I stop denying. I don't stop avoiding yet and I don't voice my realization. If I did, I'd have to do something about it. I can be stuck here, in self loathing, for another week or so. It's my own personal, self-created and nurtured hell.

I don't know where the breaking point is but when I hit it, I snap. The silence that has masked my emotional turmoil becomes charged with all of the energy I haven't spent. I can no longer exist within the confines of my dysfunction. Here I am again and I can't stand it any more!!!

I've come to my Action Phase. I speak. Words are power. A word, once spoken, cannot be taken back. A witness cannot un-hear. "I hate this. I'm wasting everything. I dream about change but that's not gonna make the change happen!"
Wolf's reply to this is in the form of a question. "What are you going to do about it?" (It's gently asked, not loaded with anger, resentment or judgment. Seven years is a lot of time to learn how your partner works. He's gotten very good at letting me get to where I'm going in my own time. God, I love that man!)

I once read a great quote: Be the change you want to see in the world. I've always thought the world was messed up. There is next to no community anymore. Heinous behaviour is to be ignored (not my place to do anything) or glorified (pick any hacker flick). My world is messed up, too. My world originates from within my own person. If I want to change the world, I have to start right here, with me. I know this, of course. I've learned it over and over, consciously since I was twenty-four years old.

A couple of years ago, I decided that the word 'should' wasn't going to be a part of my vocabulary. It was just a long four letter word. I replaced it with 'could.'
"I could be doing the dishes.
"I could be catching up on school reporting.
"I could have a shower, because it's been a week and I'm a slime-ball."

It was liberating. It made my active times feel good because I was choosing to be active. It made my lazy, avoidance times feel good because it was my choice.

Last year, when I went back to work, I lost the choice. I mean, I knew I could choose not to work, but that would leave my family homeless and starving. Had I made that choice, Wolf would have gone back to work and might not be here, today. I had a choice, I just didn't like the possible outcomes of taking the 'easy way out.'

Somehow, I've gotten mired again (*sigh*) in choosing not to engage in my life. I still believe that I needed to take 'should' out of my lexicon. It was imperative that I take responsibility for my own actions/inaction. I do think I kind of twisted the whole thing to suit my needs at the time, and now it's time to straighten out the kinks.

This is step one in my journey to recovery.

Reconnection.

It's all big stuff...

I've had a lot to think about, lately. The best way for me to break it down would be chronologically, I think.

First, as you may have been able to glean from my last post, I went out and got a touch blotto... for the first time in over a year. It took all of 4 drinks.

I had been invited to attend 'Girls' night out' by a couple of my co-workers and though I didn't want to go, I had already blown off several invites and thought it prudent to make an appearance, if nothing more. So, it was just us, the ladies. For the first time in over a year I was out, on my weekend, without Wolf. I had already decided I wasn't going to drink but my friend handed me her vodka/lime to sip and my thirst was on.

• Back-story: I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the last year and a half of my drinking years I would get the nastiest gut pains starting about a half hour from ingesting the first sip of whatever I was imbibing. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to back off a little. It took the 1.5 years to confirm my suspicions... and to let go of my favourite vice.

I think the first thing I noticed was that my gut didn't hurt. That was definitely a pleasant surprise which, obviously, precipitated another drink. By the end of the night, I still had no pain. I did, however, have the dawning of an ugly realization. I am a self-righteous bitch. But only when I'm not looking.

Wolf has always been a drinker. He never had a problem with it. As long as I was binging, I didn't mind either. But there came a time when alcohol became an issue for me and at the point that I could no longer deny that, it began hurting me. Well, with me no longer drinking I was better able to judge his drinking. How very convenient. This very judgement was fed and nurtured within me until last Monday. Eww.

Being who I am, I analyzed this to it's smallest detail and, once home, told Wolf all about it. I apologized for my self indulgent behaviour to which I was treated to the most relieved, sweet smile from my love. It really was amazing. The whole thing was amazing. I mean, I don't have the urge to spend my weekends plastered, thank God, and my feelings have changed regarding Wolf's occasional night with the boys. I know there will likely still be work to do to prevent me from slipping back into my old habit, but I'm up for that.

Next, Wolf had his neurologist appointment. The good doctor confirmed epilepsy, probably caused by Wolf's massive head injury. The back of his skull, travelling just below 60 km/h (about 37 m/h), met a curb. The doctor said that within two weeks Wolf would be called in for a cerebral angiogram. Hopefully the test will reveal the scar tissue on his brain and that the removal of said tissue is possible. They will also look at his aneurysm to see about taking care of that, too. Cleansing breath...

The 'third' thing that I'm working on is a new life. I have always been an 'artist.' I've know what I can do with a pencil, given the time and patience, and that I would love to make it a living. I know that my potential has not really showed in the bits and pieces of art that I have put on display. For the past week or so, I've been working on a portrait of one of my co-workers. Did I say that already? Well, If so, sorry about the repetition. My point is, I've shown the incomplete drawing to several people and each of them has asked what I will charge for my service. I've never had a clue. How does one put a price on something like this? What if the price is too much, or too little. How would I correct that, after the fact, for others without being totally unfair?!

Well, I was told, based on the info I had to date (it's taken me about 6-8 hours so far, I'm about half done...) that a picture this size, with this amount of detail, I could/should be charging about $450. It throws me and I think, "Really?" I'm timid about the whole thing, looking at the possibilities and daring to wonder - no, to dream that it might be possible. Wow. Really?

I guess I'm daring to dream... Now, I just need to finish the thing and get it 'out there.'

And, finally, my most recent lesson came today. I have linked my despair directly and irrefutably to anxiety. I awoke with a headache and immediately thought about this being the last day of my weekend. My mind took me to work tomorrow morning, and I was standing behind my till. I shook it off pretty quickly but my chest was a bit tight and I was instantly antsy. I managed to 'forget' the whole thing is pretty short order but I did become quiet. Wolf kept asking me what was wrong, and nothing was wrong. I was just quiet. And not hungry. And withdrawn.

Kitten was trying to tell us about her dream and one of Wolf's favourite things to do is pester the hell out of people. Every few words that Kitten would get out, Wolf would ask a question or link her words to a quote... whatever. Well, I was trying to re-engage with my family when Kitten said, "and there were these mountains and a river was winding between them..." when I smiled at her and said, "A river runs through it, which is the name of a movie." Well, my timing was off because I guess that was her breaking point. She just looked at me, eyes widened like I was the biggest betrayer, ever. Then her lips pinched shut and she turned to her breakfast without a word. I said I was sorry, and Wolf poked a little more. Well, I was done. I screwed up (which, when I'm at my best is a hard pill to swallow. At my worst, I shouldn't be permitted the care of a goldfish, let alone a child!) and had to leave the room.

As we all know, kids are far more resilient that we often give them credit for. Within minutes, she was knocking on my door, asking if she could finish the telling of her dream. I said yes and all was well. Except me. I crashed. Hard.

I realized that I wasn't trying to engage with my family for my sake. I know that when the ocean is turbulent, I need to just ride the wave. The less I fight, the quicker I reach solid ground. I know my limitations when I'm in that place. I know damned well that to deny my feeling is dangerous. And now I know that to deny my feelings, even when I think I'm helping others, is to hurt them as well as myself.

Biggies, all. Whoo-ee. And, as usual, the universe throws stuff at me when it's most pertinent. This morning, just before the emotional shit hit the fan, I saw this picture:




Thank you...

Perfectionist in the Kitchen.

I used to be a slob. If I didn't see it, I didn't have to clean it. Out of sight, out of mind. 'I need to eat? I'll wash a pot and a plate... or maybe I'll just eat out of the pot. Yeah, that's easier.'

I used to be professionally unemployed. 'Too much stress. I don't fit in the world. I'm too depressed. I don't function the same way as others."

I used to cook as little as possible. Everything I made tasted exactly the same as the only seasonings I'd use were garlic powder, onion powder, soy sauce and, maybe, salt. I had no love for food. As long as it was edible, it was fine. It would keep me from starving. I mean, is that not the purpose of food, really?


I have a new-found love for clean, clutter free spaces. Working in somewhat cramped quarters with up to two other people in the same tiny area has shown me, first hand, how important it is to put everything in its place.

Speaking of work, I am and have been for almost five months. I've only held two jobs for longer than this one. One was with a family member and the other will not be spoken of, here. Five days a week I wake up and get ready. Five days a week I go in to the store where I bide my time until the end of my shift. I arrive on time, to a place that goes against many of my ideals, and spend eight hours with some of the funniest people I have ever met in a place where I almost fit. Often I have to battle my way through the days. I battle tears and despair -- this is not the life I wanted. Sometimes, though, I look forward to my day and it flies by.

I still have no love of food. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate a tasty meal and I finally know a little something about what that means. Wolf is a genius in the kitchen. I have learned, over the past almost seven years what good food tastes like and I would love, on one hand, to be able to produce such meals. I just tend to get a little stressed and flustered. Then, the F*ck-Up rears her ugly head and it's all a wash. The F*ck-Up, for the record, is my sixteen year old self who is a complete basket case who "can't do anything!!"

So, make me clean and I'll take a toothbrush to corners and a razor blade to crusted on grossness. I'll scrub toilets and bathtubs and make everything shiny and spotless. Sent me out to work and I'll bring in a much needed and appreciated paycheque. I'll go against my nature and do my best to work through my shit. I'll go above and beyond anything I have accomplished so far in my life, but please, please don't make me cook!!!

Technological advancement, my icy cold ass...

Is it just me or does this happen to everyone who has tremendous disorganizational skills and a habit of misplaced confidence, self or otherwise?

Here’s the situation. I decided, toward the end of my last weekend, that I would use this weekend to find all my drawings, scan them to my laptop, fix up whatever might need it and upload the lot of it to deviantArt. Well, this weekend is here and, of course, I waited until almost one o’clock to get started. Piece o’cake, I’m thinking.

Now, I’ve known me all my life which should be plenty of time to learn that any time I’m sure something will work, it won’t. Not easily, anyway.

Into the longroom* I go. That's where our desk top PC and printer/scanner resides. First and foremost, it’s absolutely freezing in there. We have electric heat and no money so unnecessary** rooms go without both. Second, the mouse is neither hooked up to the computer, nor is it in the same room for that matter. It’s a good thing I’m a whizz with keyboard shortcuts. Then it occurs to me that I really don’t want to sit in an icy room, keyboarding my way through various programs and why don’t I just hook up the all-in-one to my laptop? After all, I downloaded the printer drivers last month! Off goes the PC, which takes 10 minutes as it’s a dinosaur, and in comes my laptop for scanner hook up.

Back to drivers. Yes, printer drivers. My laptop recognizes the Lexmark printer (and fax, for some odd reason) but not the scanner. Not in my program menu, not anywhere. After spending 20 minutes looking for the correct download, online, my toes are numb and my hands hurt.

I go get the mouse.

It is now 3:05 pm and I’m praying. I‘m praying that the CD-RW in our PC will work for me just one more time. I have to be able to get the pictures off the ancient beast and onto my laptop. I’m praying that the disk with the pictures will be readable by my laptop.

* * * * * * * * *

Flash forward. After scanning all of my drawings, I attempted to burn the jpegs to disk. The disk went in and was read by the by the writer. The file folder containing the images dragged-and-dropped beautifully, but do you think the writer would write? No, it wouldn't. Well, it just so happens I have two MSN messenger (ooh, I must be old if I'm still calling it by that name) profiles. I signed in on each computer using the two aliases and sent all the pictures to myself. All 40 of them. One at a time.

The whole thing took just under an hour, by which time my hands were stiff, my toes were numb and my nose had a nasty case of winter-drip. I shut down the dinosaur with the same satisfaction one might feel when ridding the house of a destructive rat .

Then it happened. I realized that I had missed one drawing(my best piece, in my opinion) and became somewhat demonstrative in my frustration. Hearing my uproar, Wolf entered the room with concern and caution his in every movement. After I explained the situation, he smiled with relief and said, "Here, leave it with me. I'll hook up my lapto... Oh baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"What...?" It came out of my mouth, less as a question than a threat.

"Open your search - here..." at which point he showed me - on my laptop which was perched on one arm while I held in my other hand the file folder filled with my drawings. It would appear that typing 'scanners' into the search field (Vista) while connected to the scanner would have opened the magic and invisible door that divides the two pieces of hardware.

Hmm.

Imagine that.

Thankfully I was way too cold to be really miffed. I said 'thank you' and 'I know it for next time' and 'no, it's perfectly okay.'

So, I still don't have that last piece scanned but I did manage to get a few things uploaded, categorized and tagged, over at deviantArt. Nothing is 'sale-worthy' in my opinion, until I can correct the 'black=blue' language of my sensorily challenged scanner. Feel free to have a look anyway. That is what it's there for (as my stomach flips nervously).

Have I mentioned that I rarely show my art to my family, let alone the good people of the limitless interweb? Be gentle but please, please be honest. If I'm to make a go of this, I need honest reviews.

*Longroom: the 15X25’ room on the end of our house. It was supposed to be the studio/craft/sewing room but has become cold storage.

**The room had been made somewhat obsolete with the arrival of our laptops, last year.

Survival...

It turns out that the difference between a lousy day and a good one can be co-workers. My first and second days in paint were spent with a couple of co-workers, neither of them teacher-types. Now, in all fairness, my supervisor is up to her ears in flooring stuff as we just lost one of our two flooring staff but her method if teaching doesn't fit well with my method of learning. Her sage words of advice can be summed up thus: "Take some time to walk around the dept reading labels. That's how I learned." And then, she left for the flooring dept.

...

The other staff person, also not teacher material, is quite quiet. She speaks only if necessary and, even then, comes across as having little confidence in what she's saying. I would get tiny snippets of 'how-to' and 'where.' I'm a touch dynamic by nature and neither of these ways of learning were even close to active enough for my brain.

I spent the day making sure the prices in our computers matched up with the bin label and sticker prices. I made sure that products were lined up with their correct shelf labels. I tinted a couple of gallons of paint... I did learn, but had no idea how much. I needed to be able to ask questions. I needed to learn more, not wander aimlessly, practising what I already knew. The days were long and I felt totally useless.

On day three my salvation walked in. In this case, it took the form of a down to earth, vibrant transplant from the UK. He's just as energetic of mind as am I. He welcomes me as I follow him around, learning from his dealings with customers. He showed me where we keep the overstock!!! Well, most of it. He gave me reasons why certain products were necessary, why the steadfast priming rules don't always apply and how to decided when to overlook them, and broke down the properties of specific products so it all made sense. I need the 'why,' not just the 'use.'

In that third shift I learned more than I had the two before. We even had plenty of head space to discuss spirituality, our 'past lives' and how we've become who we are, politics... It was so very awesome.

And this all brings us to my three-hours-by-myself-in-the-paint-dept-with-only-three-and-a-half-days-worth-of-experience shift, heh.

I won't lie. I was scared out of my mind. All my usual crutches (read: staff members who continuously bail my ass out when I have no idea the answer to a customer question) were gone and I knew I was likely facing three hours without a break. I've gotten kind of used to having a breather ever two hours. In fact, I have relied on it!

Well, I did it. I was overwhelmed a time or two and I made decisions and moved forward - without help. It was painfully quiet so I had quality time with the customers who did come in. I worked it out. When I couldn't work it out, I used the phone numbers that were left for me. I was calm. I tinted five gallons and two quarts of paint, helped a couple with their stain/varnish issue, found the right product for use with polystyrene... It was amazing.

And, suddenly, I quite love my job. I mean, to the point where I've decided to work part time even if my percolating ideas come to fruition.

I always find it amusing when my whole outlook changes,pendulum-like, in less than 12 hours.

Finally growing up…

I grew up with the label “Wise beyond her Years.” I was a very observant child and because of that a lot of my knowledge seemed instinctive and rather like common sense. Whether it was relationships or life in general, it all just made sense to me.

I should qualify all this by saying that I was a font of sage advice but I was really lousy about using that knowledge in my own life. In fact, I made all the wrong decisions when it came to my own path. I dropped out of school. I had every intention of getting pregnant at sixteen and succeeded, brilliantly. I dated abusive losers and ‘dealt’ with it using alcohol. I grew into a career welfare-mom - which, for the record, I have no prejudice or bias against, but it was a cop- out for me. I didn’t choose stay-at-home mom-hood because that’s what I really wanted to be. I chose it because I was too afraid to try anything else.

Any time I have stepped outside of my comfort zone, I’ve let my anxiety eat at me until my only option was ‘disability.’ If wallowing were an Olympic sport, I’d have a trophy room full of gold medals. Never have I pushed through the intense ‘I don’t want to…’ until this past September. I think the difference this time was that I didn’t have a choice. There was no bail-out, no crutch, no magical way back to quasi-safety. My family was vulnerable and I was their salvation.

Transition is never easy. At first, I thought I was dying and then, when I didn’t die, I wished I would. I spent a few weeks there, in that hellish place. During that time, even when I had good weeks my days off were stressed by thoughts of having to go ‘back to that place.’ And then, without really noticing, I was okay. Not only that but my life was changing in ways I hadn’t even imagined.

Flip to today. I spent my morning getting Kitten to her swim lesson (it’s a 13-26 minute drive, depending on highway traffic) by 11, and subsequently chatting it up with home-schooling Moms until noon. Wolf was up sick most of the night so it was just me, today. At the lesson’s end, Kitten took her requisite 15 minutes to change out of her swim gear Then we drove 20 minutes back home to eat lunch and pick up Wolf so we could head back into town to do a “whack of running around” that he needed to get done.

During this time I had my first of two epiphanies. We had been walking for about two and a half hours when Wolf asked me if I was okay with being out all day. I replied that I was no longer thinking of my Tuesday/Wednesday weekend as ‘days off.’ After all, life doesn’t stop so it makes more sense to think of it as ‘days not at work.’ Wolf commended me on the overall mental health in that statement and I’ve been repeating it to myself ever since, hoping that I will feel better about it the more it reverberates through my head.

A couple of hours later we were eating dinner. Wolf had shovelled a forkful of piping hot food into his mouth. When he exhaled trying to cool his mouth, he shot steam worthy of a dragon from his lips. We all laughed and I tried to do the same thing but my food had cooled too much. I said, “If that had worked for me, this place would be way too cold.” That is the moment the second revelation hit. I realized that it wasn’t too cold in our house. That was the first time I had ever had that thought during winter months.

We do keep our house cool, about 15C - that’s 59F if you’re Imperial. This year, due to unforeseen growth, I have taken to wearing weather appropriate clothing. This means no more shorts and tank tops, even in the house. I wear slippers, with or without socks. It’s the wildest thing.

So, throughout this growth phase of mine, I somehow moved beyond a sense of entitlement I didn’t even know I had. Will the wonders ever cease?!

Thank God It's... Monday?!

What a magnificent day. Of course, my 'Fridays' usually are. Everything seems lighter and I bounce through the day, knowing I have but one shift left before my weekend begins. This Friday in particular was extra special, though. Not only did many children come through the store but I also got to help a lovely senior lady who left me with a smile that lasted the full hour I had remaining in my work day.

Now, I do have a slight damper on my perfect day. When Wolf arrived to collect me after work, he was wearing sunglasses and he seemed irritated. When I commented on his mood, he told me he wasn't edgy, he was sore. He passed out again this morning. He was feeling dizzy and had tried to make it to the kitchen where he could sit down at the table. "I didn't make it," he said. I guess he got halfway there but woke up in front of the closed spare room door with a very sore face. He couldn't help but crack a sheepish grin as he explained. Makes me wish I'd never fixed the latch on that door.

We made it home with no incidents and upon checking my email, lo and behold, I have readers. Two of them! That, in my opinion, is pretty darned cool. Thanks to you both, BeeDancer and Tracy!

And on that note, something occurred to me regarding the topic of my last post. Maybe, just maybe I could bring a bit of myself to this blog!?! It wouldn't be all that hard a task and it might just be a good thing. It's something to think about, if nothing else, although i can already feel me creeping in.

And like everything else, all I can really do is wait and see. Want to wait with me?

Realizations.

We're halfway through NaBloPoMo and I have a bit of a problem. I don't want to do this anymore. Not just for the sake of writing... well, crap, really. I've looked back through the entries here and compared them with my Cheers blog (where everybody knows my naaaame...) and the quality of writing is so very different.

I created this blog with the purpose of starting over. I wanted to have a place where no-one knew me and where my old emotional crap couldn't find me. As a result, I'm not really here. The words in these entries are straight forward, calm and without any style whatsoever. Trust me, the stuff I've written this month is garbage.

Now, I'm going to finish the NaBloPoMo challenge. It's who I am. I'm one of those, "If you can, do!" people. This is hardly a challenge for me, to come here everyday and write something - anything. Writing is one of my favourite things to do. Writing is easy. Writing something worth reading, however, is another thing altogether. So, I will complete the challenge in the same way and for the same reason that I complete every a game of Algerian Patience Solitaire. Because I can.


"What about at the end of this challenge? What are you going to do, then?" you may be asking... oh wait. I have no readership!! No one's asking anything! Ha. Well, that sure takes the pressure off of me. There's no one here to disappoint or say good bye to. Phew!

Well then, I think I'll take that comforting thought with me as I grab a coffee and shower. I've two days left in this work week and I plan on using them as wisely as I possibly can.


Oh yeah, and I slept like crap last night. I'm facing this day on about 4 hours of sleep. I'm actually a touch bummed that it isn't raining. In fact, it's near cloudless and if it stays this way, the store just may be busy.

Sh*t.

Freaking COLD!!!

It's 7:32 am and I've had my coffee, checked my email, researched SPD, and read my favourite blogs. I even had a bath! Here I sit, outside on the cold front step, freezing my butt off, fingers aching... and I'm just about ready for work. The truly awesome thing about all this is I still have hours left in which to complete those things that remain undone!

I don't work until 11 but last night I couldn't keep my eyes open past 10:00. By my internal clock, I should have been up this morning at 6 but for some unknown reason I began waking shortly after 4 am. The third time my eyes opened I decided it must be time to get up. I brewed coffee and began running my bath right away and now I have all this peaceful alone time. Yum!

Seeing as everyone else is still asleep, now seems like a fabulous time to play video games!!!

I'm off.

Shifting gears...

All my life I've run at two speeds. When I was a kid, the speeds were "full-throttle" and "park." I was either playing like a maniac or not moving (usually anaesthetized by TV). My teen years flew by all "hyper and manic" or dragged on, "morose and blue."

As an adult, these speeds continue to shift. A year ago, before I reentered the work force, my speeds were "peaceful and at my own pace/neutral" and "panic/freak out!" Apparently, even I cannot run at full-panic for very long, so something had to give. My speeds are morphing as I type. I woke this morning, my Saturday, at 6:30 am. I knew I could go back to sleep, but if i did, I'd lose useful hours. I got up and made a pot of coffee.

While doing my morning stuff, I became aware of my new speeds. Since I started work, my "panic/freak out" gear has shifted to "with-a-purpose". 'I have ___ much time; how long will it take me to get ready and how long can I sit?' I remembered how lousy I felt after my last weekend. I had two days and I did nothing!!! I didn't want another wasted break. Sitting on my bed screwing around on facebook and playing net-games for hours is not an effective use of my time.

I've used to have boundless amounts of time. As a procrastinating, stay-at-home, home-schooling mom, the only things I had to worry about were getting Kitten to her lessons and submitting my reporting semi-on-time. I could afford, in a way, to run idle; I never ran out of time and, because of that, I never really did anything. Suddenly, I find my time limited (almost) beyond hope. Now, I can't just say, "Yeah, I'd like to make a skirt/shirt/pair of leg-warmers." If I want to do something, I have two days in which to make it happen.

It seems that I have an opportunity to run in "with-a-purpose" gear more often. And, you know what's funny? I really kind of like it.

Aw, crap!

Imagine it. My alarm goes off this morning and I'm right on it. After yesterday, when I scared myself by shutting off the alarm and sleeping for another 18 minutes, I am not taking any chances. I shut it off and immediately get up to make coffee. I come back to the empty bedroom to turn on my laptop and light a smoke. Wolf vacated the room last night at around midnight. He was sick as a dog and didn't want to disturb my sleep so he relocated to the spare room. As he left, I asked him if he still wanted me to wake him in the morning. He said yes, he wanted to get up when I got up. I'm not sure if I've said before but I make a point of getting up two hours before my shift starts.

When my smoke is done and I know the coffee maker has worked its magic, I head back to the kitchen with my laptop. I want to get a jump on my morning so I can get a post out in good time. I pour a coffee, doctor it up with my cream and sugar and check the time on my computer. 5:45 wtf?!! The coffee maker says 6:45... ...wait for it... aaaaaand... [click]

F*ck.

This is the first year in a very long time that I've been employed during a Daylight Savings change-over. I was not paying attention. I'm so glad I didn't run right into the spare room and jump on the bed. Beside the fact that that would be a cruel thing to do to someone who was throwing up all night, it would have been an hour too early.

So, I have caught up with most of my outstanding facebook crap, have my post well under way, a coffee in my belly and it's only 18 minutes after the time I wanted to get up.

Nice. See, it's all about perspective. I could grouse about losing out on an hour of sleep but what good would that do? I'm up. I have an extra hour that I hadn't planned on. I used it and I'm happy about it. The "Chipper Monster" is rearing it's sunny face. It's all part of my history, which I was going to use as my NaBloPoMo topic. I guess I already forgot.

[Oh, good morning, Wolf. No, don't be worried, it's Daylight Savings... Yes, I'm sure... I did hear about it last night during the game, I just didn't think about it...] hmmmm, he loves me so much. I love him so much.

Well, I'm off. I'm tired of squinting at the screen. I will see you, good internets, by tomorrow. Have a smooth flowing, peaceful, perfect day.

New routines

I have a wonky work schedule. Throughout my week I start work anywhere between 6:30 and 11:00 in the morning. I leave between 3:00 and 7:30 pm. Just for the record, I sometimes have a close shift (11:00 - 7:30) the day before an open shift (6:30 - 3:00). Close nights, I find it incredibly difficult to settle into sleep, thereby making wake-up the next morning a challenge.

I've decided to try something new. I'm setting a more regular wake up time for myself. Today, I have a close shift. Normally, I'd get up 2 hours before my shift, giving my self time to ease into my day. Translation: I would normally have gotten up at 9 am. Last night I set my alarm for 7:30 am. I didn't end up waking to my alarm, though. I got out of bed at 7, after a bit of a tossy-turny sleep.

I feel good. And maybe, just maybe the earlier wake time will make my transition to tomorrow's open shift an easier one. Here's to hoping!

Also, today I get to walk to work. Kitten has an early swim lesson so she and Wolf will be in town when I leave for my day. Thankfully, the weather is looking pleasant. It's cold but not rainy.

On that note, it's time to wake my sleeping beauties.