Photo: Walter Watzpatzkowski, Flickr Creative CommonsMy first week of work in two months started today. Last week I started getting my sleeping schedule back to a more professional rhythm. My natural rhythm shares a position in the space-time continuum with that of bartenders and copy editors at morning edition newspapers. Usually by the middle of June, I'm drifting off to sleep well after the midnight and rolling out of bed around lunch. I get a good 10 to 11 hours of sleep a night and for two glorious months, I'm happy, well rested, and a complete waste of physical space and brain capacity.
Last week I had to force myself to bed a little earlier each night and make myself get up before 10 a.m. every morning. I know, it's a major sacrifice, but it's one I should probably be expected to make without whining like a toddler, even if it did mean that I had to have several mornings with that dull, thick-headed feeling that I'll be having about five mornings a week until late next May. I don't know what the deal is, but getting up early enough to go to a normal job makes me feel horrible for about 30 minutes every morning no matter how early or late I go to bed. It's not even a caffeine addiction. I don't even drink caffeinated beverages most days in the summer and I feel fine. I just hate being productive.
Anyway, as much as I'm annoyed to admit it, having a regular schedule is probably good for me. My running regimen slipped in July. I did things so randomly that I never left myself a time of day to run that wouldn't have me either risking a massive heat stroke or having to run on a full stomach. Getting my act together was easier in the spring when I knew exactly when I could run and could plan the rest of my free time around it. I've actually spent enough time day dreaming that I know that if I were to come into possession of millions upon millions of dollars and would no longer ever have to hold a regular job, I'd have to force myself into some sort of schedule. I'd also keep a summer home somewhere up north where taking a long run at noon isn't ridiculously stupid.
That doesn't mean that I'm keen on returning to work and a life of rigid schedules and structure. I hate schedules and structures. I also hate television news and listening to people arguing about politics or religion, but those are fairly irrelevant hatreds. I'm an artist without the talent to make even a crappy living from my creations. I know that if I could just make myself suck it up and realize that this is life and that if I were to just embrace it instead stubbornly resisting that I'd have a happier experience with my next 30 years. I'm trying. I really am, it's just really fucking hard to think that way when the alarm is screaming in your ear. It's much, much easier to growl and think black thoughts and daydream about sucker punching small children before blacking out for a few minutes only to come to wondering if you remembered to wash your face before you stuck the soaped-up washcloth into other places. You only know you washed those other places because they're still squishy with soap suds. You always rinse your face before even starting on anything below your neck so you just have to hope and hope is a stupid thing.
I think all this is meant to say that you should expect my posting rate to increase now that my summer is over. It's hard for me to do anything when I have the option of doing nothing at all.