[Dutch Lock Down Day One Hundred Sixty Six]
Up at Five.
On a Sunday.
But first the news:
- NO RISE IN COVID-19 HOSPITAL CASES IN 11 DAYS; INFECTIONS TOP 70,000
- RUTTE DEFENDS MINISTER OVER SOCIAL DISTANCING PROBLEMS AT HIS WEDDING
- MINK FARMERS “COMPLETELY SURPRISED” BY ACCELERATED BAN
Yup, totally in all caps because NLtimes.nl is the only site posting the news every day and they write their titles in all caps and yes I realize this sentence is boring as fuck and I can’t stop myself because that’s how still asleep I am.
I woke up a lot last night and looked at the clock – don’t do that. There’s a certain psychology behind not knowing what time it is, rolling over and going back to sleep. I don’t know what. And I don’t want to look it up for articles that have written that better than I have, but it’s true. If you look at the time in the night, BADNESS.
Also, feel free to skip this one, it’s full of ramble.
I can’t help it.
Maybe I can help it. But I’m too sleepy to help it. Back to the post.
No, wait, I need to finish yawning.
And we’re back.
Where was I?
I kept looking at my watch – at one. And at four. Which isn’t actually BAD, but it’s Not Good and that means I’m entirely not surprised at all that when the alarm went off between four thirty and five, I woke up, turned it off, and dozed.
Also, my dad and I had a video conference yesterday afternoon so he could see the twins for the first time ever (I’m a terrible daughter) and we could catch up a bit and maybe talk about obachan.
There’s a lot to unpack in that paragraph.
I mentioned this a bit in those past articles, but I only met my father’s mother once and that’s because I didn’t meet my father until I was eighteen. Part of that story is his story to tell, but from my perspective, I just didn’t have a father and that was fine. I didn’t think it was weird. I just thought some people had two parents and some people had one and it’s all good.
When my dad and I met for the first time I cried because I felt really weird and my body expressed that with tears, but they didn’t last long because I was more curious about this person who shared DNA with me – we talked for hours and it was like the universe finally made sense.
I grew up thinking I was adopted.
My mother and I are so not alike. I mean, obviously now that I’m older, especially now that I have kids, I’m seeing my mother in me in all kinds of ways, but when I was a kid it was so not apparent. Plus, the whole being a teenager and rebellion and such meant that I really liked the idea that I was adopted so the idea stuck.
But when I met my father and he and I were SOOOOOO alike – well, it was like coming home. Which is huge because I never felt like I was ‘home’ anywhere. Moving around a lot can do that to you. Being a quarter Japanese in the United States can do that to you, too. Being an expat anywhere, really. When I went to Japan for the first and only time in my life – that was the closest I’ve ever felt to being ‘home’. But still not quite there.
So much to unpack there, too.
So yesterday dad and I had a conference call and we’re going to do it again – every two weeks – to talk to the kids and catch up – and he mentions that he gets up at four every day. And I knew that he got up early, but I wasn’t sure when, but I nod, “THAT’s where I get this morning thing.” And we chuckle, but then later in the conversation he mentions that he snoozed in the other day until SIX and we laugh about how six a.m. is considered sleeping in, except chameleon brain keeps that conversation in mind when the alarm goes off this morning.
Chameleon brain logic says “I love my dad and I love catching up with my dad over video conference and I want to be my dad and be more like my dad and since my dad says it’s okay to snooze sometimes on the weekend, here’s an opportunity to be more like my dad on the weekend – let’s snooze until six instead of getting right up at four something when the alarm goes off.”
I mean, not REALLY bad brain cause it’s sweet. And my chameleon self is normally pretty kickass in that it helps me survive and thrive and other beneficial things – I’ll unpack that one someday, too – but this morning was Not Helpful, Chameleon Brain.
At 4:55 my logical brain took back over and went, NOPE. We’re GETTING UP NOW! Which is how I managed to actually get up at five even though on the past three days when I said / typed / posted that I was getting up at five, I actually meant that I was getting up whenever the alarm sensor detects my heart rate is higher at some point between four thirty and five which changed from day to day but was decidedly closer to the four thirty bit than the five bit.
And here we are.
I don’t have an ending. I never have an ending. If you’ve made it this far, I feel like you should get a prize – a twist – something, but I have nothing for you today. I wonder if I can come up with something. I think part of this problem with endings stems from LOVING twisted endings – in stories, in horror movies, in books – I love the surprise ending. Like anything by m night shyamalan – LOVE. I know that an ending should bring the story full circle. I KNOW what makes a good ending. And yet, when I start writing, I only have the beginning / middle figured out and the ending just … dwindles.
Yet another thing to unpack and figure out.
But for now.
This morning was rough. But I know why. I’m not only allowed to sleep in on Sundays because my partner and I have a deal that he can sleep in on Saturdays and I can sleep in on Sundays, but also my dad told me yesterday – it’s okay to snooze sometimes on the weekends – and psychologically, damn, that made this morning ROUGH.
But I did it anyway and tomorrow will be WAY easier because I didn’t give in to that DOUBLE Temptation of D00m.
What are your temptations? How do you resist? When do you give in?
How do you find the balance?
I’m definitely in the midst of figuring this and many other things out right now via The Farmer Project – want to join?
Let me know.
One response to “#OhGodWhatHaveIDone”
[…] But, no, actually, it’s okay, because sometimes it’s okay to sleep in on the weekends, as my dad would say. […]