Yesterday morning was a bit rushed, trying to squeeze in writing when I'm usually reading emails and meditating, so I set the alarm ten minutes earlier. Oh-dark-thirty, that's the thought that popped in my head when the first alarm of two went off at 420a.
Oh-dark-thirty, and I haven't had enough sleep, the bed is so warm, there's so much to do today. Book fair in the library and emails to answer and teenboy's impending band trip to Disneyland.
Oh-dark-thirty, and I don't remember my husband coming to bed, he'll be short on sleep, too. There's still a pile of laundry for teenboy's trip to be done, his suitcase must be packed tonight, they'll be loading the luggage truck in the rain tomorrow.
Oh-dark-thirty, and why is the number on the scale still so big, what am I eating for lunch, I still haven't planned my March and April menus, should I eat cake for my birthday this week.
Oh-dark-thirty, and I must do something about the paper landslides on my desk. I don't want to spend spring break cleaning, but I know I will be doing just that. Spring break for college daughter is next week, wow, she'll be home this coming weekend.
Oh-dark-thirty, and I'm thinking of where that phrase came from, why it's in my vocabulary. How I miss the sound of reveille sometimes, especially when it rang over foreign places in the memories which seem to get foggier, more surreal as the years go by. Where taps wasn't just a sound you heard at funerals, but at the end of each day, when people froze in their tracks as flags were lowered.
Oh-five-hundred, half an hour of reading and writing done. Moving on...