Hovering may be a bit dramatic. I don't know that I'm exactly "hovering" but at this moment, that's what it feels like.
Outside the window dawn is approaching. It's very wet and windy and the temperature is an odd mix of early spring except the wind brings it down to warm winter. Which is evidenced by the condensation on my back windshield and the inability of the wiper to adequately clear the surface.
Before I went to bed, I reset the one time device I have which isn't connected to a satellite or wifi or internet or a wireless service provider. I was pretty sure my smartphone would take care of itself - but not 100% confident. The radio alarm clock I thought gets a time signal from some unseen robotic device in the sky to let it know - but I didn't trust it.
Which made for a restless night.
Then a really bad headache 90 minutes before I had to get up which had me curled up on my side of the bed. After taking two Tylenol mimics and downing probably 16 ounces of water, doing some Reiki and a protocol it finally subsided enough I could drift off to sleep. A light sleep, but still more rest than getting up would have been.
So here I sit with the dawn trying to scoot through the clouds and rain and my body and brain debate the real time. Only it doesn't matter.
Because this is my day. Up early. And will finish very late - tomorrow actually. Not all in one place, thankfully.
And I hope I can finish up a story I started between rehearsals and poem prep and work last week. Finish and submit before it's due at midnight tonight. I don't want to skip another week like I did last week.
The time on the clock and the time in my cells incongruent and the day goes on as scheduled. Time and sleep; working and writing; swimming, walking, laundry.
We change our clocks but do we really change the time?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry