schedules

I’ve been inconsistent here these last few weeks as I’ve been adjusting to a new schedule, namely, having one again.

My agenda (Franklin-Covey)

Naturally cut out for a structured life, I thrive in the rootedness that routine provides. Living with a crazy spontaneous artist has been a healthy counter-balance to this, but I’m happy to resume the habit of setting the alarm and getting out of the house by a certain time in the mornings. This has required re-calibration of my inner clocks, which have been at liberty to run amok for a long time now, it seems!

While I personally enjoy mapping out my day, it’s been a while since I’ve done it on a regular basis, so being able to ease back into the practice as my current circumstances allow has been a fortunate thing.

My inner clocks are usually in need of re-calibration, anyway. For one thing, they often tick at odds with other peoples’ inner clocks. I’m remembering how my X had been put-upon by my middle-of-the-night inner clock when it would clang, “YAY ENERGY!!! IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT – NOW IS THE PERFECT TIME TO CLEAN THE BATHROOM!!”

“I just don’t understand it,” he’d mutter with annoyance, pillow half over his head as I whizzed around (though silently, ninja-like, so I never really understand why it bothered him) with the all-purpose spray cleaner. “It’s like you get a second burst of energy in the middle of the night.”

“Energy” was the operative word, I guess. He was sensitive to the energies of others; regardless of my earnest attempts at silence, the underlying waves of my stirred-up, midnight oil energy disturbed his own sleep schedule. The poor guy had a hard time getting me to sleep “early,” but over time he did manage to cure me of my inability to resist the urge to clean things at 2:00AM.

Now, I hardly clean at all.

See how that works? My X had to put up with me cleaning the bathroom in the middle of the night. Now, Callaghan has to put up with me not cleaning. (I exaggerate. Of course I clean… every once in a while. He cleans the bathroom more often than I do, though.)

In my defense, I don’t think I ever actually planned to clean the bathroom in the middle of the night. It always started rather innocuously. I’ll just wipe this area here around the sink. Then, since I’m doing that, I might as well do the mirror. A process would emerge. Next thing I knew, the whole bathroom would be underway.

Where my X had to deal with my late-night cleaning inclinations, Callaghan has to deal with my late-night, over-active train of thought. Such as it is that he’s established what he calls the “11:00PM Rule,” meaning, he’s placed a moratorium on “thinking about things” at 11PM. That’s right… 11:00PM is Last Call for “freaking out” at our place. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t ever sleep,” he says, reasonably.

And it’s true… I’ve had a hard time falling asleep for years now. Recently, too, this all changed, but not because of the 11:00PM Rule. The change just happened to coincide with when I started oil-pulling exactly two weeks ago. Somehow, I haven’t experienced insomnia since Day One of experimentation with that ancient and now-trendy practice. This was not an effect I’d anticipated when I started. It’s been completely wonderful.

My alarm clock. It’s 11:00PM!

Anyway, all of this to say that my schedule has changed, including my writing schedule here… I’m in a transition phase, and things will even out eventually!

I’m eager to settle into a writing schedule now that we’re here and moved in. Thursdays had become standard for blog posting. Today’s Friday. The last time I posted here was Saturday, and it was mostly pictures. But I’d love to start writing, for real, and writing regularly on a more frequent basis, like twice a week. Let’s see… I started this blog at the end of November. In January, we decided to move, and it’s been chaos ever since with one thing or another going on, plus packing and other move preparations. Now, for the first time, there’s nothing major happening. We shall see!

I’m sitting on the bed wearing a short little dress, feeling perfectly comfortable – neither cold, nor warm. We have a fireplace, but it’s blessedly unnecessary. Callaghan’s in the other room. The bedroom door between us is halfway closed. The bedroom door. We have doors in our apartment! It’s a small, one-bedroom apartment, but it’s bigger than our house in France, and the vaulted ceiling makes it feel even more spacious. We have doors. We have closets. We have drawers in the kitchen, and we have a bathtub and a shower! There are screens on the windows, and there’s plumbing. (There was no plumbing in the house in France the first six months we lived there.) There’s a disposal in the sink, and we have a dishwasher. All the things I took for granted before I left the States.

Fully-loaded. Have oven, WILL BAKE.

Also, we have an oven that works, and this… well, let me tell you. This is a huge deal for me. We did not have a functional oven in France, so for almost two years, I couldn’t bake, which is one of things that I love to do the most. Baking has been a favorite hobby and profound source of joy for me since I was like, I don’t know, thirteen. So I made a loaf of whole wheat banana bread yesterday; it was the first time I’d baked since I left Arizona almost two years ago, and I was ecstatic. Callaghan appreciates the oven, too, as evidenced by the fact that there’s only three slices of banana bread left.