I know why I couldn’t breathe yesterday – my lungs were just anticipating the arrival of rain, and with another damp day those poor little old bronchioles feel swollen and full of the damp. Thank goodness breathing isn’t that important. Much more significant: I’ve reached Friday and while I don’t feel terribly refreshed I am functional, which is probably more than one can reasonably expect on the downward slope to 45. Actually, I feel pretty good. I don’t feel as if I’ve had enough sleep – I suspect I’m still not going to bed to sleep early enough. I believe I do need all of those eight possible hours; maybe the drugs just knocked me into deep sleep faster so I could more easily get along with less…? There’s probably some science to it somewhere. Sticking my face headphones on and lying down at eleven is going to be my new goal. Thursdays are a bit of a wild card, as I’m most fond of hanging out and having a couple of drinks after the weekly improv drop-in, and getting to bed for eleven would mean fleeing the pub a little after ten. Not impossible, but it’s also my main social event for the week and I’m not sure I want to regularly ditch it. Instead I returned home by about quarter past eleven and faffed about for a while, not quite ready to sleep after the excitement of cycling home in the pouring rain. I got drenched – by the time I’d made it up St James St it was obviously too late to stop and put on my waterproofs – without having to cycle to work every day I’ve really fallen out of not minding getting wet. It used to be just part of the day, but I resent it a lot more now. And waterproofs are so hot, makes the whole deal worse. So getting soaked was actually quite a nice change last night as it wasn’t particularly cold and all I had left to do in the day was put some pyjamas on and check out for the night.
I have quite a lot to look forward to over the next few months, and I’m tentatively pleased about it. I find having a very full calendar rather stressful, but equally if I don’t have things to then time passes in a kind of nondescript blur of doing nothing in particular. More things do need adding to that calendar, such as podcast recording dates, but we’ve a mini tour of It’s A Trap! The Improvised Star Wars Show starting in May at Brighton Fringe, Bath Fringe in June and back to Nottingham Playhouse in July. All good things. In between and before there’s a weekend in York for my mum’s 70th, a slew of other folks’ 30th and 50th birthday parties, and more good films to see at the cinema. UK Games Expo is at the start of June (a work thing really) which only slightly overlaps with going to Bath, more improv shows, and I really ought to plan something for my 45th and our 25th anniversary. Hmm, that does seem like a lot now that I’ve written it down… But as yet that has not filled me with despair. Quite where that despair usually comes from I’m not sure. I think it’s something to do with the future being real, and it’s only really real if there are things in it. I can peacefully drift through the present as long as it isn’t disrupted too much by glaciers hiding in my diary. I feel like there’s an ideal ratio between days and weekends where there isn’t anything planned, and all those calendar entries. Three nights out in row is knackering and recharging time is required, but a lot of the time I’d rather have a full evening schedule so I can have two clear days at the weekend. Yet it rarely works out that way. They’re all events which will fuck with my routine too, and without the comforting crutch of sleeping tablets to fall back on I’ll have to work out how to handle exceptions that inevitably involve later nights and not having my exercise kit handy. I’m aiming to frame that as “exciting possibilities” rather than “derailing bullshit”. Positive thoughts, and all that.
Aw, I have been joined by Pixie, who is damp from the outside and now requires love before she can doze off for an hour. Time to move on to morning routine part three.