My work week is some kinda trip through a time machine.
Twice a week I’m up at 6 for morning shifts; the remaining days are afternoon shifts or days off that offer uninterrupted slumber.
Though the shift from day to night lifestyle/schedule is abrupt, it’s welcomed because I’m a night owl. It’s not without its disorientation and jarrings, however. How but a 22-year-old can cycle from day to night to day with ease?!
Entering the Late Zone as of today, though I slept in until 10, four hours past the two morns prior, I feel rummy and off kilter. That’ll resolve as I ease back into my Night Owl habitation … just in time to switch back into Early Bird mode!
I miss the mornings lingering over a cup of coffee, writing, reading, blogging. I assure that when I’m up for my daybreak shifts, all goes to the wayside!
I’m awakened by two alarms — one of which is the phone set across the room, forcing me to RISE and walk, a security measure I adopted after resoundingly sleeping through the bedside alarm, making me late for work on day 4 of the new job!
Hey, it was right after the Locks Changed debacle and my body CANNOT be blamed for catching up on the sleep lost in the cheap motel!
If I’m to be at work at dawn, I’ll never sacrifice sleep no way no how! Sleep is God. I get up, get dressed, scrape ice and/or snow off the windshield and sleepwalk through the first couple hours at work.
I used to tote along a cup of good coffee, brewed by the programmed coffeemaker, but that came to an end after Daniel the house owner stopped by and reclaimed it.
So on those early work morns, I sip so-so java from a lidded paper cup set below the countertop. It’s like eating in the car, which I avoid except when circumstances demand. It ain’t the same as a cuppa imbibed in mindfulness and pleasure seated with the computer at a window looking out into the magnificent Rockies.
Home. I’ve written my piece.
On the matter of the move set on paper for Dec. 30, there’s much I’m feeling.
I do not wish to move. Not now. Not at this time. My instincts and senses of timing and Flow tell me it’s wrong. Not the time. It feels forced, unnecessary and an action that will create more woes and troubles than it will fix.
I have no real say in the matter, of course, which is to say that Daniel the house owner has the right, this time in proper legal documentation, to tell me what to do. He is lord and master, the domain is his.
This pains me as much as a forced vacating that feels, by intuition and divine timing, all wrong.
There’s much more to the situation than meets the eye and is written about here so I shall leave the posting as is.
I wish not to move.
I need not to move at this time.
I desire to enjoy Christmas and my FIRST Christmas in Colorado without the work and prevailing stress of packing boxes … if I’m fortunate enough to have found a place by then!
I wish to imbibe Christmas in the same manner that I prefer my morning coffee: in mindfulness and pleasure, sipping the serenity and darkness of the season.
How does forcing me out days after Christmas and for reasons unnecessary accomplish that?
To be. To breathe. To be restored in this darkest of seasons, so sacred and necessary for MY soul, before the spring of creation and re-creation arrives.
I wonder whether a man, and the man who currently has the power and legal right to dictate the course of my life, and a man of God, as he says, will get that.
That is all for today.