I never make new year's resolutions. I'm entirely too practical for that. I'm just not into setting unrealistic goals for myself like becoming fluent in French by the end of the year or losing weight (the most unrealistic goal of all!) or being a better human being. But this year, in the midst of a general rut provoked by the realization that my job has been crowding out my life, I had a revelation: there is one thing that I could change that would really make my whole life work better and that is just getting my butt out of bed a little earlier. How did I not think of that before!? Theoretically needing to work with LA, which is 9 hours behind Rome, I don't really need to be at work before 11 A.M. So that means that I have the possibility to get up early and get all those things done that otherwise ramble around in my brain and torment me during work and family time.
Like going to the gym. I used to go to the gym EVERY day, but now to work it into my schedule, I really need to be there at 7A.M. Too bad the sun hasn't even risen yet at that time in January. Up until the end of October I was there at least 3 times a week, but now with the cold and the dark I just can't seem to make it.
Or cooking. Since I don't get off work until after 8 P.M. (when all supermarkets, shops, etc, are closed in the world's most provincial metropolis, a.k.a. Rome), if I want to continue with my previously enjoyable and fruitful culinary endeavors, I really need to plan everything, buy any extra things that I've run out of or forgotten, and get it all set up BEFORE going to work.
And taking care of my dog. Poor Vespa's little life was turned upside down last year: first mom gets a new job and changes the walk time and therefore separates her from her previous lunchtime park playgroup; next stupid mom introduces her to dreamy boy dog Biagio and 2 months of pregnancy ensue; then the puppies arrive and everybody is so busy cooing over the little munchkins that they completely forget about the super-pup who MADE the mini-super-pups; then to top it all off the mini-super-pups grow up and start running all over the house gnawing on shoes and furniture and poor Vespa has to chase them around to stop them from doing things that may provoke the wrath of mom and dad. Doesn't she deserve to have a nice, leisurely morning walk to start off the day?
Not to mention taking care of the house. And let's really not even mention that.
But I could just see it: if I were to get up early, say around 6A.M. (I know, it sounds really early, but I did it every day for the past two years with no problems until last spring), I could have 6-6:30 to generally wander around the house like a zombie while feeding the dogs, having a coffee, picking dirty clothes up off the bathroom floor, and rearranging the couch from the previous night's crash-landing after dinner, throw on gym clothes, and be on the treadmill by 7A.M. Having worked up a good sweat, I could pick up any groceries or do any necessary errands on my way home at 8A.M., and get dinner stuff going before hopping in for a quick shower. Then at 9A.M. off to the park for a romp with super-pup (soon to become 1 super-pup plus 2 mini-super-pups much in need of running, rejoicing, and stick-chasing to vent all that puppy energy and avoid such venting to take place in my living room while I'm at work), home at 10A.M. to throw on work clothes, and then off to work, on the way doing any errands that involve going to places that do not open before 10A.M, which alas are numerous in my aforementioned backwards city, and showing up for work early with all excess energy worked off and my mind at ease. This would thus improve my performance at work, obviously, since I would be much more concentrated with all those pesky personal-life thoughts not running through my head. Performing better at work, I would then come home earlier, and in a better mood to boot! And imagine the benefits I would reap in my personal life just by being a bit more pleasant and positive with my boyfriend in the evening. I was starting to wonder if getting up early might not also be a cure for cancer and the solution for world peace as well.
So I did it, I made a resolution: I would set my alarm every day for 6A.M., hoping to initially be up by 6:30 and slowly work into the eventual up-and-at-'em at 6:00 sharp. Oh, I was so excited, going to bed convinced that the next day would be the first of my new, more centered, balanced life with self, boyfriend, dog, work, home, and friends harmoniously flowing one into the other in a new zen that would bring me progressively closer if not to nirvana at least to sanity.
I set the alarm every night, and it goes off at 6A.M. sharp in the still-pitch-black room every morning. And I want to get up. I swear, I really do. But somehow every morning there is some reason why I just can't move. The room is so cold and my slippers are so very far away... Or poor Ranieri had such a rough day yesterday that it would really just be a pity to wake him, so I better not get up just yet because I'd make too much noise... And then, Oops! It's already 6:30, so I'd never really be able to make it to the gym by 7:00, and if I can't get a full hour in it's really not worth going, and then I can hardly make a special trip out for the couple of errands that I have to do, so I'll just skip those as well. But then a couple of things are missing for that dinner I was thinking about making, so we'll just have to eat out tonight. And it's too cold and wet to go to the park with the dog before 9:00, so I may as well just roll back over and go to sleep for a few minutes.
Then I nod off until about 8:45 and wake up in a panic and throw on some clothes and rush through the walk with Vespa. She's more stressed and worked up than before as I hurry her home so I can hop under the shower, leaving a trail of havoc in the house as I hastily throw back a coffee and a yoghurt and tear off my park clothes, ignoring all those things I had left the previous evening to be cleaned up or put away that morning as I tromp back and forth in a frenzy through the house.
And that's when I remember the real reason why I don't make resolutions: guilt. When I finally get to work (at least 5 minutes late), I'm bogged down with a sense of shame. I've left poor stressed Vespa at home with those little monsters who are probably going to town on the articles I have strewn around the house, and she's there like a good little dog trying to keep them from doing it. And poor Ranieri is going to come home to find that mess, and and then he'll have to take me out to dinner to boot as I don't have anything edible in the house. And then there's the fact that I paid a fortune for a membership at the only gym that's open early in the morning and haven't been for a month. So I have all that stuff rambling around in my head compounded by the sense of guilt for not doing better. And I find myself staring blankly at my computer with my blood pressure slowly rising as I stress about being at work when I have so much to do at home but know that I should be concentrating on work rather than obsessing about my personal life. I really don't think that mental state will be improving my performance at work any time soon.
But I will not be discouraged! I will persevere in my quest for zen in my life. And in the meantime I guess I'll just try to get to bed a little earlier.
