Monday, October 10, 2005

# 64 GETTING THINGS DONE

It’s one of life’s bedtime rituals. A most pleasant ritual. When night falls, after a hot bath, I wrap myself in the cool cotton sheets of my bed and began planning, scheming, and creating blueprints.

Tomorrow. Yes, Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will construct a stone garden wall, prune perennials, start another quilt, paint the deck – and so I lie in bed drafting blueprints, assembling equipment, walking slowly step-by-step through each of these appointed endeavors. I bury myself in creative ways to accomplish everything with total efficiency. The blueprints are reviewed in my mind to ensure there is no gaps or misalignments. The equipment inventory is audited again and again to ensure all will be in readiness. And as I mentally rehearse tomorrow’s work, and step through the processes, I feel such enjoyment. None of it is drudgery. With such great planning, there are no difficulties. Already I can revel in that overwhelming sense of personal worth and self satisfaction at what I will accomplish.

I look forward to tomorrow’s sunrise. Tomorrow will indeed be a most profitable day. So with the planning complete, I finally drift off to sleep. Morning comes so soon and as sunlight streaks through the blinds and tweaks at my eyelids and birdies chant morning songs to each other, I am so exhausted. I attempt to recapture a bit more repose, preferably REM repose, but any repose will do. But it is no use.

And that one fly, just one, that has somehow invaded the room, stomps on me with heavy feet. There seems to be no escape from its annoying buzz and swaggering rambles across my face and forehead. So I drag myself out of bed and throw on my housecoat only to find that the fuzzy-headed accompaniment of sleep has ruined everything. It has ripped up the blueprints, trashed the equipment, and erased the will. The damage is so thorough that today is quite hopeless. I no longer have the clarity of mind or motivation to do anything. I mean anything.

Now I know it doesn’t take much to brew a cup of coffee, but despite last eve’s alacrity of mind, I can’t even figure out how to do that simple task. And when my mind is like this I know what can happen. Languishing at the kitchen table waiting for coffee only to find that I’ve brewed a ten-cup morning fix of nothing but hot water. Or misplacing the filter and ending up with coffee that needs to be chewed. Or setting the coffee decanter askew and then wondering why the kitchen counter and floor is suddenly flooded with coffee-colored slop. Or I plug in the coffee and forget to turn it on. Or I turn it on and forget to plug it in.

So what a blessing when I hear Hub’s cheery voice. “Ready for coffee, my dear?”

And as I sip that coffee and the fuzziness falls away, I know that the extent of today’s endeavors will be nothing more than routine reactions to necessity. But that’s okay; not to worry. Tonight, I will climb into bed and once again I will formulate even bigger, better plans for tomorrow. Things so innovative, so wise, so creative, that you will be sick with envy. Tomorrow will indeed be a most profitable day.

3 Comments:

Blogger Eleanor said...

So, it's not just me then? :) If I carried through on a tenth of the plans that I make just before slumber, my personal space in the world would be an astonishing place. But, since morning almost always brings a different perspective on the plans, my personal space in the world is just like it always has been and probably always will be. But at least it's distinctly mine still. ;)

12:48 PM  
Blogger plumleigh said...

Have been lurking and enjoying. Just wanted to check in and say hello before I slip in between my own cotton sheets to craft blueprints for a tomorrow I hope will be more profitable than today turned out to be!

10:09 PM  
Blogger Roberta said...

Oh Eleanor, couldn't we just set the world on fire if all those schemes were played out the way they're supposed to be played out just before we fall asleep?

plumleigh, glad you're hanging out. Hope you find this a bit of distraction from the heartbreak that sometimes haunts you. Glad to see you -- always.

12:25 AM  

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