morning head: Sunday, 3rd May, 2015
Not today. No rest for the breeders.
I was off rotation. Except there’s no such thing. Not being in charge of getting up at first chatter, and averting the saturated-nappy crisis, is not the same as not having to get up.
I’m trying to create a plausible mental schedule, one where I can find regular time slots in which to work.
Yes, I can hear you laughing.
It doesn’t have to be a three hour stint. It doesn’t have to be the same time every day. But some sort of roster would satisfy my (really bloody aggravating) need for self-structure.
This is the hemispheres of my brain using different code.
My left brain is running OSX, apparently. It loves creativity. It actually thinks it’s built for it. It fails to understand the nature of tools. A schedule is a wonderful thing, but its a fucking means to an end. Imposing one for the sake of imposing one is about as useful as sewing a cow’s udder to your face.
My right brain is running… my right brain doesn’t give a fuck what it’s running. Does it have a keyboard and a blank page? Yep. We’re off.
I have been moving since the moment I got up. It is now almost nine hours later.
Failing the arrival of the effective sleep-reduction tech I’ve been waiting for, I’m going to have to resort to more mundane, and frankly rather boring, methods of staying alert and focused in the hours after my progeny has trundled off to bed.
I am considering reviving such cheerlessly middle-aged practices as yoga and meditation. Ho-fucking-hum.