Monday morning.
What a beautiful day! Saturday and Sunday I crashed hard. I did small things. On Saturday I did my 4:30pm bicycle routine with the folks (Mom came), studied Algebra, did small amounts of tidying, and unlocked another race track on Mario Kart (the important stuff). I didn't feel unwell, just burnt as toast. I was afraid if I drove out to West Covina for the concert I wouldn't be able to get back. There are places I wouldn't mind being stuck for the night, West Covina is not one of them.
Sunday was not a vast improvement on Saturday. I didn't feel unhappy, sad, or even frazzled, just limp. It wasn't a bad sort of limp. I think things finally resolving themselves on Tuesday with Mickle, finally switching to Wednesday afternoons at the cafe, getting my class, not getting the job, and all the other bits and pieces tidying themselves up (including the desktop having an appointment with my tech guru), finally gave me permission to flop. And on Sunday, flop I did! No swan dive for me. No grace, no style. After I made my folks some pancakes (Sure, Dad is willing to ride his bicycle if I bribe him) I plunged into the sofa, and soothed myself with West Wing.
Yeah, I'm pretty convinced that day dreaming or even resting is better than watching tv. I hate that idiot box. But my burnt-toast brain was not up for much. Reading fiction is rarely good for me. I don't mind watching a show over and over again, so I try to veg out to stuff that inspires me. I did practice the guitar a bit, but after glancing at my timer and realizing that what seemed like twenty minutes had only been five, I gave up. I do want to continue creating habits that invest my time in creative ways, but yesterday was not the day for it. I just kept reminding myself I had a hard week and that I needed to rest.
This morning I feel like my assessment of the situation over the weekend is being rewarded. My stomach didn't wake me up until 5am. I got up and did a restorative yoga pose and went back to bed for an hour. It was so nice not to be woken up at 2am. I think only getting up one day a week at 4am is going to help enormously by giving me the option of going back to sleep for a little while to keep my sleep dept in check. Waking up at 2am and feeling sleeping again at 3:30am, only to have to get up a half-hour latter is one of the absolute worst things in the world. The rest of the day is I feel like a ghost, insubstantial in a world I can't quite believe is real, and all I want to do is hide in a book.
But not today. Everything, including me, felt gloriously substantial. When I got up at 6:30am I bounced out of bed, slipped on my silly toe-shoes, and went for a jog. I love the in-between times. When the sun is golden and bright, but hasn't quite warmed up yet, or when it is fading into the horizon. That is when the colors are the most beautiful. I was even composing a little sonnet as I tromped along about the huge, yellow flowers heralding in the day.
When I got back there was an onion bagel to toast, and fresh coffee to brew. And I could smell the onions toasting and the coffee brewing. My sense of smell goes in and out, but it seems to be back noticeable. more often. It is so pleasantly shocking when I can smell something, like coffee or an onion bagel crisping, that I can be shocked by the pleasure of the sensation.
But now I have to get ready to go chatter about fish. Mondays are great days because I get to go do something that I do very well and that is worthwhile. Now I just need to find something equivalent that is willing to pay me, but I think I'm, finally, on the right track for that too.