Birthdays

I just had a birthday. And, in taking stock of my life as one is prone to do on that yearly day, I determined that one crucial thing is missing: writing. I just don’t make the time.

So, fixer that I am, I determined that I would start to rise early to write and to exercise my dog. If writing and exercise are relegated to my evening hours, they are quickly replaced with rerun episodes of Sex and the City. I love that show, don’t get me wrong, but I think I like writing more.

Per the tradition of making short-lived, sweeping changes that I’ve spent 27 years on this earth perfecting, I decided that heretofore I would break down my days thusly:

8 hours – sleep

8 hours – work

2 hours eating and cooking

1 hour writing

2 hours school

1 hour exercise

1 hour getting ready

And just like that, Poof!, the day is gone!

I was so excited to start my new life this morning. The coffee pot was set for six am, promises were made to the dog for long walks. I couldn’t wait.

Except, I finally rolled out of bed this morning at 7:02 and woke to cold coffee and rainy skies. When I make these promises to myself, I forget how hard it is to change 27 years of habits, like never exercising in the morning and always staying in bed until the last possible second.

Ah, well, at least I eeked out a few moments to write this while sipping my microwave-warmed coffee. It’s a start. A tiny little step in the right direction.