Beat the clock

I'm in a new relationship. And like all relationships, it requires introspection. Course correction. And action. The problem is, when am I going to get to all that?

Particularly since the relationship I'm talking about is with Time itself.

Consider this, I've been working since the age of 11 years old. When my father, in need of gardening/landscaping/home maintenance help, discovered he had two healthy boys living under his roof. He had cheap labor, the cheapest. All he had to do was bark some orders and feed and clothe them on a regular basis. All of which he'd been begrudgingly doing.

When I was 14, I experienced my first career change. And went from Indentured Servant to Newspaper Delivery Boy. 

Since that tender and informative age, I have been working. Non-stop. Like always. 

High School -- Working.

College -- Working.

Spring Break -- Working.

One day after arriving in California with nothing in my pocket -- Working. 

Even when I was a freelancer and had the luxury of time between gigs, I was working. 

Mostly working at getting more work.

Coming from working class, post-Depression roots, that's how I was built. Now I'm convinced the very ethic that gave me life will also be the death of me. In short I'm having issues slowing down.

Relax. Stop rushing. Take a deep breath. 

These are easily said, not so easily done. When I inhale deeply to engage in some mindfulness, my mind immediately goes to I have to lift weights, swim and hop on the Peloton today. I have to run to the store to get toilet paper, salmon and stock up Pepcid AC. I have to record Lawrence O'Donnell and his take on today's Shitgibbon shenannigans.

Not only is my To-Do list endless. It's also quite rigid.

For no apparent reason, other than the fact that I have lived a life governed by the clock and the calendar, I assign these duties specific start times. 

For instance, I could hop in any of my three cars (anyone in the market for a 2009 Acura MDX?) and run to the Pavilion's supermarket any time of the day I like. But, like a Pavlovian pup trained to follow a stimulus/response, I tell myself I will go at 2 o'clock. 

Or 3' o'clock.

But never at 2:23PM. 

Or any time that ends with other than a 00 or a 30.

I've become a victim of my own discipline. 

And as I result, I have this uncanny ability to guess the time of day, without looking at the clock or gauging the sun's position in the late Spring sky, with remarkable accuracy. This may sound like a gift, but as of late it feels like a curse.

I entertained thoughts of sitting on my porch, cracking open a bottle of Cabernet from the Alexander Valley, and polishing off the rest of Maggie Haberman's 600 page tome, but than I remembered I'm all out of Cascade Dishwashing pods. 

And once you've experienced the superior glass cleansing there's really nothing else that will do.

See you tomorrow.