Friday, January 6, 2012

"We did it, honey. It's 9:00. Waddaya say we sit in front of the TV and nod off in twelve minutes?" to which she replied that that sounds fine, since it's what we basically do every night anyway.

It's a battle, it is. And tonight wasn't even a bath night! I think it's the constant negotiating that wears me out. The eat-this-and-you-get-dessert, and the if-you-watch-this-you-don't-get-a-story diplomatic posturing that takes place so often that no conduct, in the end, can be taken seriously, and it all builds up to a crisis in a foreign court ("I want daddy! I want granny!" etc.) So thank God there's nothing on, as sleep will come quickly and easily in five... four... three...

And so it went. I woke up at 2AM and got a glass of water, used the toilet, and made the decision to just give up and go back to sleep on the couch, since upstairs seemed such a household hinterland at the moment, and the couch was right there. There are several things that are pathetic about this. Shall I waste time exploring them all? I shall.

Oh, forget it. It's all too disgusting to relay. But I woke again, and then again, and then again at six AM to coffee dripping into the carafe, still wearing my Thursday clothes, severely unshaven, and with a strange pasty frosting on my teeth. Suburban tartar. It happens sometimes. And the sunrise, as seen from my workstation, was other-worldly. It was all very encouraging.

Mrs. Ditchman makes a pillow nest, nowadays, and there's not a lot of room for me on the bed. She tosses, turns, every few minutes or so, and it sends me into a minor launch that leaves me cold and sheetless, disturbed from slumber. So the couch ain't so bad. Plus, I have that marathon in a couple weeks. With its start time at 6AM, I figure a little sleep schedule adjustment couldn't hurt.

Anyway, I was really craving a run this morning to shake it all off. A night on the couch makes today feel like yesterday, when you so want yesterday to be dead and gone, and a good hard run and a shower is an excellent transition, but I hadn't the time for the run and just went for the shower. And a shave. And a serious nail-trimming. And clean clothes. Okay: Friday.

But felt guilty all day about not posting yesterday, having written only the two paragraphs. The Other Sean, the Good Sean, the one who deftly builds aluminum patio covers, improves his PR with every race, and is also a published novelist, politely asked me over beers if I had planned on posting to the blog Monday through Friday, like I did in 2008 and 2009. I hemmed and hawwed. Demurred, I did. Truth is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to write the next one, much less, every day of the awful week. This ain't easy. I'm not even sure if it's necessary, productive, or important. 

It is, of course. As exercise. Which, I've learned in my 41-year-old wisdomness, is a very necessary part of life. So I'll just press on, I guess. "Show up" as best I can. Just showing up has often been extolled as the key to success.

This is me clocking in. I was here. I was here and I did this thing.