I’m in a discombobulatory free-fall right now. And if I may speak for everyone else – I believe we all are.
The last time I felt this topsy-turvy was when I brought a baby home for the very first time. I was thrown into a tailspin of confusion like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
Day was night and night was day; I was eating when I should’ve been sleeping; and sleeping when I should’ve been doing laundry. Time was at a stand still. And also – time was flying.
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“Just relax and go with the flow” – they said. “Don’t try so hard to make a routine” – they said. “A schedule will emerge – you just have to be patient” – they also said. Still not quite sure who “they” are – but the point is “they” were right.
And now – a new tailspin of complete and utter unsettlement. The former milestones of my typical day are gone. Forever? Probably not – but sometimes it feels that way.
Every day is like Sunday – one of my most favourite songs in the world – by the notoriously crabby yet awesome singer Morrissey.
Sunday – the day that once upon a time was reserved for family excursions, long and involved dinners, laundry – is now any day of the week. Every day really is like Sunday . . . or Monday or Wednesday. I don’t have my familiar markers letting me know the week is just beginning or half-way over or wrapping up.
No more hockey practice or swimming lessons, or school volunteering. No more doctor’s appointments or dentist appointments or hair appointments.
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Trudging slowly over wet sand
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But just as “they” had assured me all those years ago – a routine is slowly materializing through the haze without any effort on my part whatsoever. Suddenly – from this blurred, daily disorder – a new grind.
Breakfast, then school work, then lunch, then dog-walking, then errands – all while husband sits at dining room table and incessant arguing fills the atmosphere. Five days of this – to be exact – followed by two more two days of the very same – or similar anyway.
Nights are getting longer and later. Mornings are getting shorter – and also later. Maybe not for everyone. But for some of us. For me.
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How I dearly wish I was not here
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Less showers, more hooded sweatshirts, zero makeup, more pyjama-clad daytimes, no skinny jeans and dress-up boots. More online. Less real time. Less planning; more disarray. Less structure; more chaos. Less discipline; more disorder.
I am hiding under the bed clothes to pass the time and filling my boredom with walks and movies and food and a bit of writing here and there. But the routine is finding me. It always does.
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Everyday is silent and grey
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My husband and I have been retired for sometime,and we would jokingly explain to people that now,eveyday was like the weekend.However,this feels different;routines and rituals are put on hold.Indefinitely ‘they’ say and that is the root of the confusion !