I was scheduled to work Sunday, 9:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m. I'd gone to bed Saturday with thoughts of which route would avoid the worst of the marathon participants and spectators. Making every effort of follow the usual night before work routine, I gathered wardrobe, set and checked the alarm and then lights out.
The next vaguely lucid moment arrived when awakened by what I thought was a waste management crew run amok, but that couldn't be, it was Sunday. It was just my daughter going through her laundry preparations.
I lay there a moment thinking it was awfully early for her to be up and about on a Sunday. And oh, it's pretty light outside for 6 in the morn...oh my sweet jeans, it's not 6:00 a.m. it's 10:00 a.m.! I cannot flipping believe I slept through the alarm, well past even my normal wake-up time. With or without an alarm, I'm usually awake no later than 6:00 a.m.
"Mom, you're late for work." Gee, thanks kid. However, I'm only late, if I go. It's 10 a.m. now, the commute, under ideal circumstances, takes an hour. It is Chicago marathon Sunday and it's raining. I'm not going. I call off. I really do not like calling off. I cannot believe I'm missing a shift because I overslept.
I was mortified.
Since returning from Vegas, I've been out of step, out of sync, out of rhythm. I've been off my robustly enthusiastic resolve to regimented routine. I've been a slug.
I thought time was all I needed to shake the post vacation malaise. Not so, I need time and a list. I need a list. There are tons of chores, projects and tasks and I just realized, I haven't made a proper list since preparing to leave Vegas. It's all about routine. The list is routine. I've been winging it, making it up as I went along. Maybe sub-consciously extending the vacation. The routine won't keep-life goes on. I gotta get back on the clock.
I missed my shift. I am now adrift. I need the list, but...first, there's football and a soccer playoff. I spend some time thinking about the list while watching The Striking Viking, Ewa Laurance defeat Duchess of Doom, Allison Fischer in a trick shot competition.
It sounds like more slugging around, not so. It was just the ticket. I rounded out the early evening by clearing our patch of yard of fallen leaves, twigs and other debris, energizing mind and body for the work ahead.
The minutely detailed list is done, out of my head, onto paper where it will do me some good.
Monday was blissfully, beautifully routine, right down to missing not one but two busses, in the rain, getting home from the part-time gig.
Going for two today.