If every day were a Monday…

Definition of Chaos-Disordered, unfathomable space of time (the first hour of this Monday morning)

Not just any Monday but the start of this Monday was a beast.

As I get older, I’m a big fan of waking up.  That’s it.  Just waking up.  It tells me that I won’t have to be a ghostly presence over someone’s shoulder as they read my obituary in 2 days.  Morbid but true.

My routine is to pop out of bed at 4:45, open the door for the dogs, and turn on the coffee pot.  Then, some prayer & reading time and the busy-ness of daily life.  I generally make all of our lunches-that’s mine, Bob’s and Bobby’s-and toast bagels or make smoothies for breakfast.  Bob leaves for work at 6:05 and Bobby and I leave shortly afterwards.  It’s a nice routine and  goes smoothly up to and including the ride to work with Bobby. 

Since I’ve adjusted to 15 minutes of the talking heads from C-101, I don’t have to make long sighs as we cross the bridge.  It’s only 15 minutes.  Not 15 hours.  When I was drinking, all bad things lasted FOREVER.  And good things…milliseconds.  In sobriety, I can recognize the good as well as the reality that good and bad neither one lasts forever. 

This morning started last night.  At least the basis for the chaos.  The idea of taking a short camping trip before the 4th of July camping trip was a good one, but we had lots of careful repacking to do when we got home.  There was a point at 9:30 Sunday night when 80% of the gear was cleaned and stowed and we declared a cease fire on the sand.  And went directly to bed and sleep.

Without setting my alarm.  Without putting shoes and billfold away.  Without checking that the lunch larder was stocked.  Without even making the coffee pot for Monday.

It was Halo’s insistent barking that woke Bob.  He let her out of her crate and opened the door for the parade of dogs to go to the backyard.   We both went back to sleep, waking to Bob’s “you better get yourself dressed” alarm which goes off at 5:45. 

It’s distinctive and as the name suggests the last line against being late for work.  The alarm prompted a “Holy Cow” from Bob and an expletive from me. 

I tripped over the cushion that Halo had dragged out of her crate and stubbed my toe on the closet door.  Fixing lunches was a challenge.  Sandwich bags were floating in the ice chest along with lunch meat and cheese.  The unfrozen bread would have made SAND-wiches for real. 

A blizzard of activity had Bob, lunch and coffee in hand, out the door.  And back in when he realized his wallet was not in his back pocket, on the nightstand, or under the front seat of his truck. 

Bob with Public Enemy #1

Reconstruction of the previous night uncovered the clue that Bob had left the wallet on the coffee table.  Further CSI recovered the wallet with dog tooth marks in the middle of the backyard with bank card, driver’s license, and work cards intact. 

I started the morning over when I got to work.  I can do that.  When I was drinking, a day that started like this one would have called for early release from work and plenty of alcohol.  Then, a day that started hectic signalled an irretrievably BAD day. 

Today, there was nobody in my office when I got there and I was able to start a pot of coffee and say my morning prayers.  For real, this time.  (My earlier morning prayer was, “This day is messed up, God.  I don’t like it.”) 

I was grateful when I made the second round of prayers.  So far, this isn’t a good day or a bad day.  It’s just a day.   And since I didn’t wake up with a hangover or take a drink to ward off the shakes, it stands a chance to be a good day.  All in my perspective.

About texasgaga

I am a mom, a grandmom (Gaga to my 2nd oldest grand-child), a sister, a friend, a construction estimator, a homeowner, an active member of a 12 step recovery group, an artist, a reader, a survivor, a do it yourself wannabe, a laugher
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