F--k Time Change
Grumpy enough that there's no voice-over
In the event I could write legibly before waking fully, 5:20 would have daily entries dripping with sadness and vitriol. There’s a funk about me before my logical mind wakes to tell me everything is probably fine. This morning’s heavy downpour and gusts of wind had me listening for any possible sign that the mountain would come down on us. It feels like it’s been windy for 17 months, on and off again, and there’s been a horrendous run of tragic landslides in Southeast the last decade or so.
What will it sound like, when it comes? I’m still not certain what the actual time was when I woke, but at that time, a vengeful slide was definitely certain. Would I feel the bed shaking first? What are the steps to best survive the earth and logs and water that would no doubt take out our first floor at any moment? I know where all the emergency exits are on a 737, and I hang on every word of the safety brief (I’m the one) in order to maximize my odds. But I’ve not read or heard anything about how to survive in an avalanche of muck.
I’ve been mindful, lately, about how my body feels when I first stir. There’s always a headache. Often a stuffy nose that I can feel all the way behind my eyeballs. If I’m over a certain threshold of life stress, my molars feel like they’re being held in a vise. This morning was not that, as my brain just decided it would send up the “you’re fucking miserable” flare. So I was miserable.
I laid there first thinking about how I couldn’t write yesterday. I had a lot I wanted to write about. I’ve got a book I’m drafting. The story is back to churning in my head after a number of months in hiding. I received some very kind feedback from a couple of people. Their excitement has led to a little ball of light in the heart of my book, and that should be — I don’t know… exciting? But my Shame Brain likes to shit on me about not getting stuff done, and I definitely did not work on that at all yesterday.
On Friday night, I read a post about a toxic relationship, and it reminded me about my trip to base I wrote about last week. While my story is strictly about a professional relationship, I was inspired by the vulnerability shown by the writer. I was pleased to find a new read on Substack, and I could feel my body getting charged up to write about my own experience.
’s post is here:
So, I was primed yesterday. It was going to be a writing day. And then it wasn’t. It was a very familiar time of having a Substack draft hanging on a monitor while I curse at my Rocket League teammates, or having Scrivener scream at me for attention while I start a new beaver colony in Timberborn. And while I did my best to acknowledge and see to the door my feelings of shame and guilt for not pursuing MY FREAKING HOBBIES, none of that self-kindness was available to me this morning.
Still in bed, I heard the rain let up for a bit, and I tried to shrug off my thoughts of inadequacy. I calmed my thoughts and considered for a bit that I might be groggy enough to sneak back into sleep, but Paige was already there, and her chainsaw snoring meant there was no chance.
I rolled over to grab my e-reader for a quick time check and my lower back hollered at me. Great. In maybe the most old-person moment of my life, last week I fell down the stairs. It was because I was trying on some compression socks because I thought they might help with my hips aching so much recently. The super slick new socks on the smooth flooring jarred me down at least eight steps, and I have been trying to ignore that slight, familiar stab in a particular spot for the last few days.
At least I stayed in bed all the way until 7:40am.
I closed my reader and dragged myself to the end of the bed, quietly sneaking out of the room. If Mary stirred, Paige was loud enough that she might have to get up, too. I wasn’t ready for socializing yet. I also wasn’t ready for the cats’ impatience. I made grumpy faces back at them as I made their breakfast.
We had house guests last night, so I spent the next 40 minutes or so making coffee and cleaning up the kitchen. For me, there’s not much better for clearing a sloppy, messy brain than clearing a sloppy, messy kitchen. I find the routine meditative, and in the mornings I have a lot more patience with the magical game of Tetris loading the dishwasher can become.
I took a deep breath, happy to have my brain not confused about anything at all.
It was probably about time to put the Bills game on the radio. They play at 9am Alaska Time most Sundays. A quick check on the clock.
7:40am.
My reader doesn’t auto-update its time, I guess. Also, it’s 2024, but we’re still changing our clocks twice a year like a bunch of idiots. I take it personally, it seems. I don’t even know who I’m angry at, but this is the absolute worst time to fuck with people’s rhythms.
I usually like ending these posts with something nice, or hopeful, or… light? I don’t have much here except I’m going to be on stage Friday in a fake English accent. Come see me.
Thanks for the shout-out, and yep, sometimes brain is not braining, or actively rebelling. Then another day comes and things 'work'. There are strategies to deal with all this but it takes some mental gymnastics sometimes unfortunately 😬