Every day is a collection of moments. Each week, each month and each year they become our memories.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Let’s try this again…

Sometimes Tessie wakes up at 5:30.  On those days I feed her and then we go straight back to bed.   We indulge in bringing her into our bed with us so we can all have a bit of snuggle time before starting the day.   Other days, like today Tessie and I got up at 6.  Somehow that extra half hour makes it seem like morning.   I feed her, she plays a bit, and then by 7 she goes back to sleep so I get a precious quiet bit of time before the crazy of the day starts.   I get to enjoy my coffee,  check out the latest on Pinterest,  see what’s going on on Facebook, and blog a little.    My mind gets to enjoy the slow wake up process without any additional demands being placed on it.   Then I can shower and actually start my work day.

Some days, like yesterday, I feel like I am being dragged through the day.   Not counting actual phone calls and emails from customers, I was interrupted 20 different times in an 8 hour period. (yes – when I realized how agitated I was I counted).   And that was completely separate from taking care of Tessie or talking to my sisters.   So I woke up feeling like I was going to get certain things done in the office and then every time I attempted to start doing even one of those things I was interrupted.  If I had just started the day yesterday with the assumption that my only job was to react to whatever unplanned thing popped up, I would have been super successful.   As it turns out I instead feel like the entire day was wasted and now I am yet ANOTHER day behind on my work. 

My friend Susan recently told me that she gets up every morning at 5:30 to take a walk before her family gets up.   My initial thought was “CRAZY”…but I was also a little jealous. Morning is my favorite time of day and it sounds lovely to be outside, alone in it.   Bottom line - I have to make the time for me or I will get dragged through every single day. 

Wish me luck.

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