So little to do and so much time to do it in..

20 04 2009

When I was young, I remember thinking my father odd for his scheduled routine.  Even after his retirement, the latest he would ever sleep was til six.  He would come downstairs and begin brewing a pot of coffee, ten cup pot full though he never drank more than half of the pot.  While it brewed he would step out the front door to retrieve his paper.

You cannot imagine the hell that erupted when a new paperboy took on our route or a fill in covered a vacation or whatever reason caused that newspaper not to be at our front door stoop by 6:10 – the paper’s phone number was #3 on our speed dial.

By 6:15 he would be wandering back up the stairs with his cup of coffee and his newspaper to begin the morning constitutional.

And by 6:30 he was in the shower.

At precisely 7:00 he would walk out his bedroom onto the balcony to unfurl the American flag into its holster.

And by 7:05 he was downstairs, refilling his cup and settling into his seat at the head of the dining table to finish his paper.

You could set your watch by his activities.

And for all my curious looks and quirked brows at why this man didn’t bother to sleep in when he could or make only enough coffee for his needs or so forth – I sit here unemployed yet waking by some innate force by five each day and my coffee pot is half full now six hours later.

I could lie down and take a nap, I would love one actually – but the idea of doing so seems out of place.

I miss the daily grind of work and with little to do instead after my want ad searching; I find myself banging out on the keyboard and taking software assessments and courses.

This whole lack of work ordeal has unsettled my entire routine and I feel now how my father must have felt when there was no longer any filler between his morning routine and MASH.

My house has never been so spotless, I found myself cleaning areas of the kitchen I never realized could be cleaned on day two of this unemployment event.  I could literally serve food off of the tops of my cabinets and use the toilet as a punch bowl, if the need ever arose for such uses.

And this being the third business day to follow the private announcement of my lack of further employment, I can’t help but wonder if they need me to answer any questions or locate any files or help out in some fashion – anything that would fill these lonely hours with something more than the silent keystrokes that I now hear.

There is my book that I could once again work on.  It has sat half finished for the better part of a year.  But I am avoiding it for now as the last two times I took a break and restarted; I literally started over from scratch just to get myself back on track with it.  I don’t wish to do that again.

I want to call and wish well to a few of my co-workers, former that is, but I don’t know that it would be without awkwardness unto them, so I have avoided it in full.

I still foolishly found myself straightening our product on the shelves at the grocery and gas station – as though it benefits me in some fashion now.

I have learned that my dining room clock actually has an audible tick that I somehow have never noticed before.

I know now that we receive several automated calls from surveys and telemarketers during the day.

And that precisely 12:11 the water softener makes a whirring noise as it cycles through some stage or such.

There is an odd click sound that comes from our bedroom about one in the afternoon, but I cannot yet discern what it is associated to or why it makes the noise.

And I noticed I have too many alarms set on electronics – both of my cell phones turn on and signal an alarm ring at 6:00; my electronic planner beeps three times at 6:30 for its alarm; and some other electronic in my purse, which I believe is my PDA but I haven’t caught it in action to confirm, makes a single humming sound at 6:45.

At some point during the acquisition of all of my necessary toys I found the need to set alarms and on off programs, though I could not now tell you if a single one had any impact on my routine as I only just now know that these all chime off each morning.

I miss work.

I miss working.

I miss that filler between my morning routine and the Simpsons and I wonder how my father coped with this withdrawal.

I wish I had asked him instead of quirking my brow and merely wondering why he went through the motions of his day on schedule when there was no schedule to keep.

And I really wish I could convince my eyes to close for a nap.

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