That’s what I want to know.
It’s all very well this daylight hours stuff, with your mornings and your lunchtimes and your “after” noons, but wouldn’t it just be better for everyone if the day started at 6 o’clock in the evening?
OK, granted, the answer’s probably no, but I wish it did. 6pm is the time of the day – not before, not after – when my body decides it’s OK to be human. For weeks now my daily routine has consisted of playing passenger on the journey my chest takes from grouchy in the morning through surly at lunchtime to grumpy in the afternoon, before it settles down and lets me get on with things from the time the first news headlines are read out.
The problem being, of course, that by six in the evening, there’s no “things” to be getting on with. Anything even remotely related to the “real” world is out of the window because “normal” people go home at 5 o’clock, the inconsiderate beggars. Anything creative is pretty much pooped on because just when you get into your stride, dinner turns up – not that I’m moaning about dinner, you understand, since it’s about the most I manage to eat all day at the moment, so I need it all the more.
What I’m left with, then, is basically, the ability to sit and watch telly without feeling rubbish. I suppose, really, I should be happier than I am that I get any sort of grace period in the day from feel awful, but I am starting to resent the fact that the very time everyone else is shutting down for the evening, I am just starting to rev up.
I’m even working against K, who, like everyone else, is all ready to snuggle down on the sofa whilst my body’s telling me to get up and do something useful. About the only useful thing I’ve managed to find to do is the washing up, so at least the kitchen looks all right. I guess.
Thank heaven for small mercies, they say, and I do, everyday. But sometimes you do just want to bash “they” in their stupid mouths for being so flippant about such bloody annoying things.
I’m not ranting, really I’m not, it’s just that if I was going to be granted a window of energy in the day, I’d rather choose sometime when I might be able to make some decent use of myself, or even just be able to have a coffee with a friend or visit a shop. (First person to mention 24-hour Tesco gets a spatula somewhere it shouldn’t live.)
“They” also say beggars can’t be choosers and I suppose in these days of low energy and even lower expectations, I can’t really moan about being afforded three hours of feeling vaguely normal of an evening.
Not when there’s so much other great stuff to moan about…. But that’s for another day.