Morning! C’mon, no more snooze; crack your neck and face the day. If I have to, so do you. And I haven’t slept.
I’ve sputtered on to friends and acquaintances about my bizarre sleep schedule. I connect this mostly my semi-graceful dismissal from my last full-time job (almost three years ago, whoa). I’d like to take a moment of silence to consider that I’m somehow still clothed, fed, and housed. There’s been no system to it, just mercy & grace.
Now, back to sleep. Or rather, back to figuring out sleep. Short of buying colorful V-neck sweaters every autumn , the thing I miss most about a 9 to 5 is the regularity of a schedule. I’d scarf down oatmeal or a bagel while opening emails: meetings and random CCs (ugh, another 20-something just cc’d all of Europe about the weekly NY conference call). Lunch was between 12 and 2, and depended on weather (a long line for grilled chicken in the café if it’s raining) or a leisurely walk if work was slow and spring was even vaguely hinted in the air. Dinner? Before primetime. Often Lean Cuisine, or whatever could get the hottest within four minutes. Two hours of prime time. Pass out. Repeat.