Clocks, Calendars and Organisation (or lack thereof)

The clocks went forward on Sunday in the bi-annual attempt to eek out the sunshine in the British Isles. Normally, I grumble and adjust the time on the microwave, car and heating and then swear because I can never remember how to change the time on the oven. This time however, I am completely out of whack. BST has completely thrown my body clock and I find I'm not sleeping and drifting around going "huh?" at regular intervals.

After some contemplation, I realised that it's down to the fact my time is now my own and I don't have any kind of routine at all any more. I used to like my routine. I could look at the clock and know exactly where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing. There's a certain amount of comfort in that. 

Nowadays, I keep a stricter diary, as in I make sure I write down appointments. I get engrossed in tasks and forget what I've agreed to do.   This week I was going to start implementing early mornings. Instead, I'm getting up later and later as the quality of my sleep has been quite poor. If I don't sleep well, nothing much gets done.

It also means that I don't have specific days when I don't work. When I say "work" I mean doing the creative stuff that might mean research, notes, journalling, thinking, plotting and indulging in creative tasks to fire my imagination. In other words, I am now pretty much working all the time and all hours. Given my reading is as important to my writing and that Netflix has become an integral source of research...there isn't very much I'm doing right now that isn't pointing towards my creative goals.

It isn't a bad thing at all. Except it means that the necessary things in life: food, laundry, pushing a mop around the kitchen floor so Rummy's feet don't stick to it, it's all a bit arbitrary. My bedroom is littered with clothes, both clean and dirty. Getting laundry done is easy, putting it away seems to be a challenge I'm losing right now.  Food is also a bit haphazard. I'm just as likely to eat a bowl of cornflakes as to cook a meal. I was spoiled over the weekend when Dave took the reins and not only fed me with extra, but he also dug out the kitchen. Emptying the dishwasher is also a bit haphazard and as I type this, there's a counter hidden under the pile, taunting me. 

A few weeks ago, I bought compost and seeds and stuff, with every intention to get growing things. The plan was brilliant. The compost is safely unopened, the seeds still in their packets. 

I could go all Organiser on my butt. Establish a timetable and attempt to stick to it. Social media isn't my friend as far as wandering off task. However, I've been resisting the temptation to artificially impose said timetable to experience what flexibility is really like. Apart from the constant whisper in the back of my head "none of this will pay for coffee, face cream and gym", I love it. 

I love being the Master of my own Destiny. After a productive weekend, I took Monday and Tuesday off to a) unwind and b) fight off Boy's cold he so thoughtfully brought back from Lincoln. Yesterday...I can't remember what I did yesterday. My legs remind me I went to the gym and there was some food shopping in the midst of that. Umm...whatever. 

This part of the writing process is slow. The background work will inform the quality of my writing. I was naive to think I could do it as I went along. The 4,000 words I produced in February won't be wasted. I wish I had been able to anticipate the time it would take to get myself better positioned, but there you go. It's all good. Everything is pointing me in the right direction.