I am on my own this weekend with the entire family out of town to visit other family. I stayed behind to work, get some peace and quiet, and keep all the dogs (4 of them counting ours). With the exception of being woken up at 3:30 because the were all riled about coyotes (I think it was coyotes), and again at 6:30 to let them out, I slept for about 11 and a half hours. I haz a tired. It was a really good thing I didn’t wake up to pee last night, because when I got up to let them out this morning, I had a dog in every square inch of floor. I don’t usually get to go back to sleep on weekend mornings because someone, who shall remain nameless, snores. And weekend mornings are usually when I get a bit of quiet time because said snorer is still sleeping, so that’s mostly okay. But 11 and a half hours. God, that was nice.
I’ve been looking forward to this weekend with the desperation with which a drowning woman views a raft. It’s not just that I am an introvert and people wear me out (though that is absolutely true, and gets to be more so with each passing year). It’s that I have so much on my plate with my jobs, my students, my family, the IBC, my writing, and the usual suspects of housekeeping, cooking, etc. that I pretty well NEVER slow down until my body and brain just flat out crashes and ceases to work (which, incidentally, does not count as a slow down but more a break down). Add to that the constant sort of input from social media and keeping up with folks I actually WANT to talk to, and it’s a constant stream of input for my brain. And I’m really bad about not realizing how totally wound up and stressed out I am until I get the rare opportunity to stop.
Last night I got off work a little early. Took a short NAP (the world would be a better place if everyone napped). Then I wrote up my notes for my new synopsis of Devil’s Eye (the Pink Hammer of Doom is really awesome about helping you fix the stuff the beats you bloody over), threw on my Toby Lightman station on Pandora, opened a bottle of Petite Syrah and started dinner (corn chowder, in case you were wondering). I danced in my kitchen and reveled in the fact that no one was talking to me, no one wanted anything, no one demanded my attention. Oh, my holy God, it was awesome.
And for the first time on months, maybe more than a year, I felt my brain start to slow down. Legitimately so rather than just reaching breaking point and stopping. I had grand intentions of writing last night, but then I decided I’d rather just wallow in the solitude. So I ate. Wrote in my journal. Listened to great music. Finished reading I Am Number Four (which was quite good and I’ll be interested to see how the movie turns out). And plotted how I can get rid of my entire family for 3 days a month in the name of sanity.
Okay not really (well maybe a little). But it definitely has brought home the fact that I MUST be better about unplugging from the world, slowing down, and MAKING the time for the meditation and yoga I said I would get back to three months ago and never did anything about.
I’ve been thinking a lot the last couple of days about how I can rearrange my schedule to make for better writing time. I have 2 hours in the evenings before hubs gets home from work, but it takes me that long to unwind from my own work day, start dinner, etc. So I’m thinking I’ll move my lunch workout after work and write during lunch before my brain is cluttered with the day. I’m not THRILLED with this, as I hate working out in the evenings, but it’s a more productive use of my time. And it’ll help control the “Oh my God, I’m so hungry I could gnaw my own arm off” that I’ve been coping with since hubby’s schedule changed and moved dinner to 7:30 instead of 5:30. So I’ll box, and follow that with the yoga/meditation routine that will hopefully allow me to better shed my day.
In the meantime, I’m going to finish my tea, do some yoga, get a shower, and dive into my manuscript (of which, about half is being rewritten).