Rough Morning

I fell asleep at 3 a.m. working my way through the archives of "The Therapists Mumbles". A technician was heading over at 8 a.m. to install and connect our Cable. We're switching from Dish TV to Cable, primarily for the faster internet connection, which I would like to mention isn't any faster (actually slower) at the moment.

My sister wakes me up before she leaves, but she wakes me a little early. I'm up before three of my alarm's go off. I make my way to the bathroom for my morning ritual. Everything is in place and all is A-okay. I stumble into the living room and find a spot on the couch and curl back up. I haven't been a morning person in a long time. I don't think I've ever been a morning person. In the past, I don't know how I got myself to wake up at 5:45 am to go running at 6 am and without any coffee; these were my caffeine free months. Twenty minutes later, I make my way into the kitchen and make a cup of coffee. I have a piece of toast and I'm set.

The technician rings me up and I'm dealing with the installation for the next hour or so. My words were incoherent. My dog is barking. If I was "sober" enough (I use this term loosely), I might be self-conscious of my appearance.

The technician leaves and the place is a mess. Disconnected wires and boxes are on the ground; soil and debris are on the carpet coming from the technician's boot. I'm irritated; I'm annoyed and deprived of a couple more hours of sleep. Even with this feeling of discomfort, I know that I'm the only one here that can be responsible. It's not a big deal, yet I'm irritated at that thought. I'm irritated that I have to be held responsible to make sure things are put away and that the everything is working (even if it was my brother-in-law's idea to change our settings).

It hits me and I realize it. I'm irritated at the thought of "having" to be responsible. I dig deeper and I realize it's the thought of "having" to be responsible for the "change". Ah, seems metaphoric for what I have planned today.

More coffee is brewing, another technician is heading over between now and the end of the day. I gather myself. I'm sitting at the dining table with a printout of my health benefits and an in-network directory of doctors. I've done my research and I know my options (I think). I'm staring at a doctor's name, address, and phone. That's the guy, my choice. I'm staring at my phone. A few minutes pass and I finally enter the number into my phone. I stare at the phone, thinking "Do I still need to see a Therapist? I'm fine and I'm sure I can handle things on my own. Do I really need to talk to one? What am I doing?"

It's set and they were able to squeeze me in this week. I'm excited, but nervous and I don't know what to expect.

Changes. Progress. Time. Speed. Effort. Work.

I get an email: A potential client gives me an overview of a project and requests a quote. Another email: An agent that remembers me being an untapped resource of income. She has a possible full-time position for me that starts off as a freelance gig.

Decisions. Choices. Time. Speed. Accountability. Responsibility.

Rough Morning.