My early-morning self is very disciplined. Feed the pets, eat a nutritious breakfast, exercise, study how to speak Spanish, maybe wash up some dishes, maybe start writing a new story, maybe make a grocery list.
My pre-afternoon self is not quite so disciplined. Feed the pets, eat leftovers for lunch, watch a movie, eat some chips and salsa while I’m watching a movie, maybe have a second lunch, doze off while reading a book, maybe eat up any ice cream that’s leftover from last night, maybe wonder if I should bake a cake. Of course I should bake a cake. Cakes are good. So is cheesecake. Decisions, decisions.
My evening self is an absolute sloth. Complain about having to feed the pets all day long, fix supper, snack on anything that is in reach while I’m fixing supper, tell myself that I need to stop eating junk before eating supper, watch my “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do” right hand reach out for some Peanut M&Ms and stuff a handful into my mouth, eat supper, eat a second supper, watch another movie or TV show while I’m snacking on late-night cake, try to recall if I did anything useful during the day. It’s midnight, so I don’t really care.
Oh, right. I baked a cake.
My next early-morning self is ashamed of my last-night self. But I feed the pets and start another day with another nutritious breakfast and plan to make THIS day count.
I’m not exactly sure when or why “the change” takes place. It may have something to do with keeping up with current events and wondering how this whole world is going to survive these unpredictable times. I once was able to put all those “doom and gloom” feelings in a little box and place it on a shelf well out of reach, but more and more I keep watching my “You can’t hide this from me” right hand open that box along with a snack and gorge myself until I force myself to close my eyes and mouth and go outside to face the world.
Go outside and pull some weeds. Kick some rocks. Water some plants. Mow? Too wet. Trim? Too hot. Off to the grocery store. Watermelon? Why not. Milk? Got plenty. More M&Ms? I think you’ve had enough, mister. Avocados? That’s what my body needs. Avocados, apples, cauliflower and sweet potatoes. Sack it all up and head for home. What time is it? Only 10:30 a.m.? It’s going to be a long day.
Work is the cure for all things foreign and domestic that is making a bummer out of your day — scraping 20 years of dust and grime from the top of your ceiling fans; creating a raised garden bed and planting onions and sweet potatoes; striking up a conversation with your neighbor who you haven’t seen in awhile; learning how to play the bagpipes.
It’s the work that keeps your thoughts out of your own “the sky is falling” mind and into doing something productive.
Gingerbread cookies. Made from scratch. Now THERE’S some work I’ll gladly endure. All that reading of instructions and mixing and stirring and rolling out with heavy rolling things and waiting and cutting and baking until they’re done, then letting them cool down before testing to see if they’re any good — I might have to test another one, just in case. No time for doom and gloom. No time for feeling sorry for yourself. Plenty of time to share and watch others enjoy the fruits of your labor.
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