It's a rainy Monday, after all the excitement of football, leisure time, and general 'do-nothing' spirit of the weekend, today feels like a HUGE let down.
I started my Monday early, as usual, and I had a meeting downtown first thing in the morning.
I'd listened, halfway only, really, to the weather report on the AM station that wakes me via clock radio and since I still can't hear out of my right ear (the Cold to end all Colds) I only heard the part about "plus four" and I perked right up, planning an outfit for work that did not involve winter boots, a blazer/jacket, or sweater. One light Cardigan coming right up. I didn't listen nor did I, in my mad Monday morning panic, look out the window once, so I didn't notice the pelting rain until I left my building. Sprinted to my car, madly dug out the file I needed for the meeting to have it handy when I arrived at the meeting and parked the car, and got re-drenched.
Monday mornings are never easy anyway, but this one seemed particularly dreary as I sat, no kidding, in complete gridlock trying to drive a few short blocks, swigging coffee out of my travel cup and cursing streetcars, pedestrians completely dressed in only black and grey, darting in front of cars (note: difficult to see through windows smeared with rain) and cops directing traffic around endless construction. I hated being in the city this morning, which made me sad, as on the weekends it's such a quiet, deserted place, for the most part, and I enjoy it so much.
Sunday nights require special handling in preparation for the next day. Meaning, I need to sleep, and I need to not wake up around 2am and stare at the clock, calculating out how little time I have left to sleep as I lie awake.
My usual route on a Sunday night is a sleeping pill, low dose, non-groggy the next morning, nothing crazy. However, since Christmas and the gift my mother got me of an herbal tea called "Dreamland" I only drink that. And it's insane. It's like taking some type of psychedelic. At first I thought it was called Dreamland because that's where it puts you. But I think that the name also reflects the screwed-up dreams you have (and remember) when you drink it. (like running a marathon vertically along a rain-drenched boulevard, that was last nights' or dreaming of people you haven't seen in ages, that was last week).
As I was emailing my friend L. today about it, I asked myself, How can I sleep less? And then the far more pressing question: How can I WANT to sleep less?
I noticed, when I was off, that I woke up at 7am everyday anyway, for the most part, and went to bed around 11pm every night. So what is different now? It's the same sleep time, it's the same everything time. I guess the commute plays its part too. I also did some quick 'quality of life' math and here's how it breaks down, during the week:
Work day: 9 hours
Sleep: 8 hours
Commute: 1.5 to 2 hours
Total: 18. 5 or 19 hours.
This leaves just over 5 hours a day to: cook meals, clean, shop for food, write emails, make calls, etc, etc, etc, you know, all that 'life' stuff, oh, and yes, spend time with Mike, while he is here.
It's dizzying. Add in tv watching, reading, getting ready for work and getting un-ready for work and I need to learn to not beat myself up so much for not getting it all done in that 2-day span known as "weekend". Not to forget blogging and writing, and reading other blogs (last week I stumbled across a 20-something who is writing a memoir about her cancer survival, which is great, except it has the word "charisma" in the title which horrified me. Also, I always think about what my mom says about writing a memoir under the age of 35, bare minimum. She's got a point. And as I've noted before, I have several 20-something bloggers I love and whose sites I continually return to, just to get a little pick-me-up, a reminder of how simple life used to be, but how complicated it seemed at the time.....).
Okay. That's it for today, another Monday. Munday it should be called. MUNDANE.