Lifestyle
The Magic Of A Morning Routine
I usually manage to finish it by bedtime … but not always
Do you want to know what’s so magic about my morning routine? Well, since it’s actually impossible to do all of it, anytime I even come close, it’s magic.
First thing in the morning, we are told, we should meditate and do yoga and make a written list of priorities and immediately make our bed and also go for a run but don’t forget breakfast is the most important meal of the day unless you’re doing Intermittent Fasting in which case put down the bagel and what the hell, man, it’s 10 a.m. and you still haven’t walked your dogs, which is irresponsible and didn’t you say you were going to be better about keeping a journal now? Why are you not dressed yet? It’s noon now. Morning is over. What do you mean you are still not done with all your first-thing-in-the-morning tasks?
I have more control over my mornings now than I ever have had before. I no longer have to wake up to care for a baby or to get children off to school on time. I don’t have to be anywhere for work, since I freelance at home. This is all in contrast to the years when I had to get up at 3:45 a.m. in order to be at my desk at 5 a.m. in order to make the 10:50 a.m. deadline for an afternoon newspaper. That was absolute murder.
The only morning responsibility that’s set in concrete is letting out the dogs and giving them breakfast. In winter, I don’t want to walk them until it warms up a bit. In summer, I want to walk them before it gets too hot.
This enormous flexibility, combined with my lack of organization skills, means I’ve tried numerous ways of starting and ordering my day and none have been obviously superior.
First things first, I must read the paper
Yes, I still get actual print products, and yes, I’m the last person in the whole world to do so. I start a pot of French press while the dogs are doing their thing and then I settle down for a read. It takes me a while. That’s because I’m thorough, or maybe it’s because I am also taking little peeks at Facebook and at my Medium stats and at my Kindle Direct Publishing stats. Hmm. How are book sales? How are my Kindle Unlimited Reads? Wait, I’m supposed to be reading the paper. Be disciplined. Put down the phone. I know the phone is responsible for half my morning productivity problem. Now focus on the newspaper. Economy, war, war, economy, political stuff, more business stuff … what a fucking idiot! I can’t believe this guy on Facebook. He’s going to get a piece of my mind, the moron. Tap, tap, tap … I guess I told him. Now, back to the paper. Why is my coffee cold?
Secondly, I must walk my tyrant dogs
Yes, yes, dogs. I know. You want a walk. I meant to do some mindfulness and gratitude shit this morning but you guys woke up early, and I don’t dare make you wait to go out, so I popped out of bed and let you into the backyard right away. Better to get out of bed in the middle of trying to go through all the things I’m grateful for than to have to clean up a mess. I am grateful nobody has pooped in the house for a long time, I guess. I’d definitely be more organized if not for you dogs. That’s for sure. Yes, I’d be totally organized if you two didn’t keep interrupting me.
All right. Stop begging. I’ll get ready for the walk. It’s going to be a short one today. Mama has shit to do! I know, I know, so do you. I hope you’ll do it in that deserted back alley this time. (Normally, my dogs prefer to poop on the most manicured lawn available, preferably while as much traffic as possible is passing by. I stand there patiently waving my little poop bag as they take forever so everyone can see that I’m a Good Citizen.)
So, 45 minutes later, the dogs are happy and ready to settle down for a nap on the futon in my office. I glance at my phone and see it’s horribly late, and I still haven’t bathed or written one word. This is bad! Then I realize that, after checking the time on my phone, I unconsciously began checking my KDP and Medium stats, and from there I noted that the moron on Facebook has had the nerve to give me some shit. I give him some right back and then realize the day is getting away from me … like it always does.
What am I even getting ready for?
I never go anywhere, yet I have to feel clean and fresh. I would bathe twice a day even if I lived alone and never had visitors. It’s annoying how long it takes. As I’m hurriedly brushing my teeth and begrudging the time it takes, I come up with many great writing ideas. This is the day I will write all the things. I have great ideas for my novel and for Medium. I have great ideas for promotional posts for my pen name’s social media. I can’t wait to get to my computer!
OK, I’m finally at my computer
They do say you should keep a gratitude journal. It feels like I’m overdue, so maybe I should do that this morning. I open that file and discover I last wrote two months ago. Oops. I jot down some of the things I’m grateful for and then I begin bitching about other things. I scroll up. I was grateful and bitchy about the same things the last time I wrote, and the time before that. Screw this. I am bursting with ideas for productive writing!
Except first I need to do something
My pen name’s social media needs to be bolstered. I should design something clever to post. This won’t take long, and then I’ll start writing.
An hour later
That took longer than I thought, but it really did need to be done. OK, let’s get this Medium piece started. I have the best idea. I want to write something really interesting about society and it also has a bit to do with economics and naturally the war in Ukraine fits right in with that. It’s going to practically write itself.
An hour later
That did not write itself at all. I’m ditching that idea and will write today’s Medium post later. For now, I need to get cracking on the current novel. I ought to have published it a month ago. My Kindle Unlimited reads are garbage. I tell you, I am not stopping today until I have 3,000 words done.
Ten minutes later
I’m so hungry. That’s right, I screwed up the order of my day today and didn’t eat anything with my coffee, and now it’s lunch time. No wonder I’m starved. And the dogs need to go out. I don’t want to eat oatmeal because carbs. I don’t want to eat eggs because cholesterol. I check the pantry and the fridge and the freezer and then the pantry again, waiting for the ideal low-calorie, healthy, easy-to-make food to pop out at me. Nothing pops out. Sigh. I make a giant spinach salad like I always do. The dogs need treats and some romp time outside, and afterward I guiltily look at the dirty dishes. I ought to do those. No! Later! I have writing to do now.
So I do the dishes. I might as well. The dogs are having fun outside and they’ll nap while I write if they get some exercise now. I start a load of laundry. I feed the sourdough starter. I decide to make black bean loaf and roasted cauliflower for dinner.
At least an hour later
This is insane. I haven’t written anything good! My phone buzzes. It is someone I am close to who is in crisis. I take the call, a feeling of nervousness rising in me because I have somehow gotten to early afternoon without having done anything. When the call ends, I panic-write 1,200 words in my current novel in about an hour and a half. I calculate when the novel could be done if I would keep to this pace all the time. I could write a book a month! I should do that! I could really make bank! Now, back to writing. The goal for today is actually 3,000 words.
Twelve words later
Oooh, I have the perfect Medium idea! I can easily write the novel later tonight after dinner. For now, if I want to keep my numbers growing, I need to post something daily. I buckle down and write something I’m really proud of. Then I re-read it and re-read it again. It is perfect. I find a piece of art, get it properly formatted and smile. Man, I am so good. I read it again after posting it. Perfec —
What the fuck?
How did I manage to misspell “Ukraine” as “Ukrane”? I quickly fix it, hopefully before anybody sees it. Then I read the whole thing again. Just in case.
Five Minutes Later
My husband texts me to let me know what time he’ll be home from work today. Oops, I have just enough time to have dinner ready if I start right this minute. I wash and nuke a sweet potato, turn on the oven, and gather all my ingredients. He’s a vegetarian, so I’m always trying to make interesting meatless meals. I drain and roughly mash two cans of black beans. I chop an onion. I shake in a bunch of ground flaxseed and some tex-mex seasonings. And oatmeal. The sweet potato is done but it’s so freaking hot it burns my fingers to peel it, like every single other time I make this dish, because I’m always trying to do it in a rush. I mash in the sweet potato, dump in some oatmeal to make it more meatloaf-like, and stir the whole mess thoroughly. Into a casserole dish it goes, and I add a ketchup topping. (Don’t blame me. My husband likes it that way.) The oven is not quite pre-heated, so I cheat and put it in the microwave for a few minutes to give it a head start.
Roast cauliflower isn’t difficult but it’s a race against time now to get it washed, cut up, drizzled with olive oil and lightly salted. It should be roasted at a much higher temperature, but I can’t be burning the bean loaf. It’ll be fine.
I don’t have enough time to really write, so I hang up the laundry and start another load, and tidy up a few things. I’m a terrible housekeeper.
The dogs want in. They are hungry. The elderly little beagle-mix tripod needs her antidepressant snuck into her dish, so I feed the other one in the bathroom. Can’t get their bowls mixed up.
Back from war?
My husband comes home and the dogs are deliriously happy. They act as if he just came back from war. While he’s giving them attention, I plate everything up and we have dinner. I explain to my husband that I didn’t have a very productive day, and will need to knock out another couple thousand words on the novel after dinner. I explain in great detail what is going on with the plot. I can tell he is riveted. (He’s never read any of my books and I’m sure he never will. English is his fourth language, so he doesn’t read it for pleasure.) He says he’ll work in his attic studio while I finish writing.
But nope
The dogs want another walk, and they cannot be denied. The younger boy dog will look us right in the eye and “talk” to us in a funny way when he wants a walk. “Rar, ar rar rar … ar ar RARAR!” We walk them around the neighborhood together. I can tell my husband is tired. He got a promotion not long ago, from the factory floor to the office. It’s a lot more responsibility and he’s working tremendously long hours. I express to him for the 897th consecutive day how guilty I feel that he’s working so hard to support us while I’m making only a little money here and there. He says he’s sure the books will take off soon and that he knows I’m working hard, too. But am I? I don’t feel like I’m getting anything done most days. I meant to vacuum the downstairs but didn’t get around to it. When we get back, I do the dishes, but the vacuuming will have to wait.
I hear the Slack tone on my phone
It’s an agency I do some freelancing for. Could I complete three 1500-word SEO pieces about a certain obscure mechanical process by Friday? I have already written thousands of words about this industry. I have said everything there is to say. Why does this company want more pages? Ugh. I say yes, of course, no problem. That’s gonna push back the novel. So be it. I make very little on my books anyway, even though I have diligently followed scads of advice from others who are having wonderful luck with their books in the same genre. I need to publish monthly, I know, and some manage it but I can’t. Yet, in the middle of a push to publish more books per year, I have committed to trying harder with Medium. The truth is, I miss journalism terribly since being laid off in 2015. I’ve tried copywriting for an agency and doing magazine work and genre novels, but writing opinion pieces for Medium is the closest thing yet I’ve found to the satisfaction of newspaper journalism.
Meanwhile, how many times can I listen to the same song?
My husband has a recording studio in our attic. He’s passionate about it. It’s very cool. But have you ever spent time in a recording studio? The recording engineer will play the same song again and again and again and again and again, making minor tweaks apparently, until the recording engineer’s wife, who is trying to write a book, is about to lose her ever-loving mind. But he supports my passion so I have to support his. I grit my teeth.
OK, I am done writing this novel today. I have nothing left to give and I have to get away from this keyboard. But I will definitely get 3,000 words in tomorrow. That’s not negotiable. I am serious. For now, I need to like a bunch of things on my pen name’s Instagram. And promote my Medium piece on LinkedIn and Facebook and Twitter. And do some reaching out on Medium. I give out a bunch of claps and follow a few like-minded people. I respond to some comments and make others. And then I indulge in wasting time on Facebook for a while, and then I dive into the Charlie Kaufman novel Antkind, which is amazing but not a fast read at all.
We try to watch something on Netflix together before going to sleep most nights. We have very different tastes in movies, so one of us is always compromising. Most don’t hold my attention, and I end up checking my stats and social media. Ugh. I know how bad that is but I can’t seem to help myself.
One of us lets the dogs out again. We have our bedtime routine. I have to take a good hot bath, and of course, while soaking in the tub, I have to check my stats and scroll my social media feed. Someday I will drop my phone into the tub, I know. It is inevitable.
Sleeping is just a dream for me
I don’t have normal sleep cycles, so I’m always tired. I go straight into REM and spend little time in deep sleep, which is abnormal. I imagine I’d be more productive if I weren’t always exhausted. It doesn’t matter if I’ve done heavy physical labor or a lot of exercise or anything like that. I’m just a lousy sleeper. (The ONE thing I don’t do to try to address my sleep is put down the damned phone. However, my sleep issues extend to well before smartphones were invented, so I’m not sure it makes a difference for me anyway). My husband is one of those terrible people who feel great after five hours of sleep. I’m jealous.
Why have I not accomplished more?
All I really want to do is write. But for every hour I spend writing, I probably spend two messing around on writing-related social media. I have a newsletter to write, design and distribute. I have Amazon and Facebook ads to write and manage. I have covers to arrange and a Facebook page and group for my pen name to keep up with … it never ends.
How about you?
Am I the only person who can’t control her day, or is this a struggle for all of you, too? I tend to think if I could figure out the right order of operations, or turn off my phone or transform into a completely different person I could turn out a daily Medium piece, churn out 3,000 words for my work in progress, complete a freelance piece or two, take care of all the social media promo bits and still have plenty of time leftover for exercise, housework and reading.
Just me?