I’m trying to shift my meditation practice to the mornings, which is a little difficult since my brain, even at its most placid, is a Vorpel Bunny on crack.
After I wrote that sentence, I went for a morning run, did an errand or two, and made a GINORMOUS mug of tea. (The caffeine, preshus. We wants it. We NEEDS it.) I sent a short story to an editor I trust for a gut-check. Also, I just found out one of my favorite sweaters shrank in the wash, too. Dammit. I had a whole post planned, but when the alarm rings, I head out to run, hell or high water. Otherwise half the day will be lost.
So far, the meditation-in-the-morning thing means it gets to midafternoon without that thing on the to-do list hanging over my head. I feel a little less harried, I suppose. The next step is morning-and-night, because the anxiety meds work a lot better when I have some spooling-down time after dinner. (Frau Doktor says, “Yes, that way they don’t have to work as hard.”)
…you know, trying to fine-tune my brain chemistry so I don’t poison myself to death with stress is an ongoing battle.
Odd Trundles is speaking in soft garbled tones, grousing that his late-morning nap was interrupted and that he now has to catch up on that and his early afternoon nap too. It’s difficult, being Trundles. Miss B, wedged in the doorway with her head propped up on one side and her hind end wedged firmly against the other, is snoring blissfully. Trundles has settled into dog-loaf position (legs tucked under, head down) and continues to grouse sleepily while I hold the tea-mug and take a few deep breaths.
Time to make that fifteen-ring circus I call a brain pull a few story-carts.