The weekends never seem like they’re long enough, even when you’re busy just languishing and lounging around drinking coffee & volunteering & kissing & watching movies in build-it-yourself forts and you even took Friday off; I thought about not writing today, primarily because it’s Monday, and we all know that Mondays are drags because the mental clock is already ticking away the seconds until Friday evening, and busy Mondays at work are even bigger drags because of the zoom & rush, and while driving home sleepily, you rationalize with yourself that it’s ok to skip a day of anything you’re supposed to do.
The most popular article in the New York Times today is “Yes, Dear. Tonight Again.” The tale of two parallel chronicles of two married couples, challenging the notion of the sexless marriage. So they ( the women, V obviously noted) make a decision to have sex every day for 1 year. And they write about it. If these people can both be working adults, have sex everyday, & write, can’t I?
How hard could it possibly be.
And in any case, I’ve never been a fan of sleep in lieu of other activities. (But one of my biggest goals is to sleep earlier despite obvious contradictory evidence.)
Must Try Harder.
Someone told me it takes 21 consecutive days to make or break a habit; in the past six months, I have established these new routines as a part of everyday life:
Putting lotion on after showering.
Bringing lunch to work everyday.
Putting clothes away properly instead of dumping them on the floor, chair, etc.
Obviously I haven’t cured cancer or won a Pulitzer, and these little things seem alarmingly trite in comparison to– well, everything & anything, really– but sometimes you have to start out really small– I mean, no one starts off being an alcoholic.