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I hate mornings. I have always hated mornings. I have hated getting up for about 35 years. I have hated waking up for about 15 years. When it is at its worst, I hate that I am alive again with infinity stretched out before me without guarantee of peace at some point. I live in fear that I won’t ever be happy to greet a new day.

Most of this is I think due to too many days waking up, getting ready for school, and going to school alone when I was far too young. Most of it is due to the change in my residence one or two times per year until I was ten. As an Adult Child of an Alcoholic or Other Dysfunctional home, I have no clue how the day is supposed to begin, on the inside. I know what the outside looks like, bathing, eating, care of pets, making the bed, caring for my own child when he was small, laundry, going to a job and school. But I can’t get a handle on my insides.

I think a large part of it is also that I am an extrovert. Or I think I am. I NEED OTHER PEOPLE. I HATE LIVING ALONE. When other people are here, I don’t feel as bad. When other people are around, I have so much more energy. This drives me crazy.

I love to write. I could write all day and into the night every day. I hate to stop writing. I hate to hurry up and find an ending point, save, close out, race through the shower, grab work stuff, and speed off to my fairly good job. Yet I know that it is my job that saves me about a hundred times a year.

In this, my third year of dedicated recovery, I hope to find balance. I hope to stir desire for life in me through seeing what I can do once I decide to crawl out from under the covers. I hope to create two routines to coax me to stay out of, and off of, my bed once up. I hope to develop a liking for the feeling of not being stressed. I want to bound out of bed, jump in the shower, knock out my morning routine, fly through my check list, and go to work early, fabulously put together, with limitless energy and cheer, and fall into bed ready to sleep well and get up to do it all over again. Please lie to me and tell me that that is how everyone does it.

The power of neglect. I am continually amazed at how deep it runs.

I have been off for several days. It is time to go back to work. When the clock reads “critical time” for me, I am angered, frustrated, shameful and afraid. This is the time I absolutely MUST prepare for work to be clean, on time, and prepared. I hate this time of day. In my fantasy’s mind, I cross my arms, tuck my chin to my chest, and blink! My Genie Magic instantly dresses me, does my hair and make-up, prepares my bag with my meal and deposits me outside my locked apartment door. I get to scam out of the drudgery of winning the battle with myself to stop whatever it is that I am doing, gather clothes, shower…. you get the drill. My Genie Magic avoids the anger of change for me.

But that would probably not be enough. I’d have to use it for productivity too. In my self-made angst today, I am falling short of my 1000 word goal and brilliant blog post. On the up side, my mind is fairly quiet today. I do feel very good about my last two posts. They had their beginnings entered on my notebook a month ago while out-of-state and I finally got them cleaned up and out. Maybe my quiet mind is happy and feeling accomplished and I need to leave it the hell alone.

No, it’s never enough.

The power of neglect. It never let’s me rest.

But for now, it must rest for the critical time has come. I have about 700 words and 55 minutes. Time to “suit up and show up” as a fellow ACOA member likes to say. Back to work after a few Blessed days off.

I’ll get HUGS!

Yes!

I LOVE hugs at work!  🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂

bc

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