Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Resolutions, and the production and maintenance thereof, were kicked to the curb sometime last year, probable victims of a ruthless round of Lent. We’re talking all kinds of resolutions here, especially the New Year’s varietal, and renewal, rather than resolve, is the theme for this quarter.

The recent diagnosis has been grim. I feel listless, a boat without a sail. Restless, plagued by a recurring dream about tornadoes. I am Popeye looking for spinach, Mario digging for mushrooms, Lindsay Lohan reaching for the rubbing alcohol. Much of it can be attributed to holiday excess, with odd hours and consecutive days of gift basket food, restaurant food, and almost-food, the specialty output of Long John Silver’s. That’s why renewal is so critical at this juncture–to find my center and reclaim that clarity of purpose.

The first challenge is to figure out sleep, particularly duration and bedtime. I’m not convinced eight hours is optimal, as evidenced by the 50 mg of I feel like shit generated by yesterday night. And although sleeping early, like right now, may appear to be a sound recommendation, suddenly regaining consciousness at 5 AM would be unnatural. I’m thinking more along the lines of 11 PM, 8.5 hours, and the belief that 8.5 hours matter.