A friend recently asked me to describe to him a day in my life.  It was interesting to see it all on paper spread out before me.  I’ve decided to share it here:

The zen-alarm clock gently chimes its Tibetan bells. It’s 6:15 am and she’s curled up, sleeping on her left side wrapped womb-like under the covers, surrounded by pillows and warmth.  Reluctantly, she turns off the alarm, lights the bedside lamp and reaches out to click on the space heater.  Placid fingers of daylight tap on her West-facing windows.  She drifts in and out of dreams as the morning slowly cajoles her awake.  At 6:30, she slides out of bed into her fluffy white robe and slippers.  When she creaks open the bedroom door, Kafka, curled up at the foot of her bedroom door, greets her with a hello.  She pads out to the kitchen to mindlessly microwave a bowl of oatmeal and sprinkle it with slice bananas and cinnamon.  She sacrilegiously reheats yesterday’s coffee, adds a splash of milk and carries her 3-minute breakfast to the couch.  It’s the most she can muster in the morning.  The kitchen timer is set for 10 minutes.  Wrapped in a blanket, she warms her hands on the rustic oatmeal bowl and stares into the lightening garden.  She daydreams again and Kafka finds his way to her warm lap.  Relaxing here with oatmeal, coffee, kitty and sunrise is one of her favorite activities of the day…

The kitchen timer buzzes, waking her from her reverie, but she’s not ready to move.  There’s still coffee in her cup.   She lingers for another ten minutes, aware that this will cause her to run late.  She eventually places dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, turns on the CD player and turns the water on in the shower.  Under the hottest water she can stand, she lathers up with vanilla cake scented bath gel good enough to eat, washes her hair and brushes her teeth – while warmed under the rain-shower faucet head. She loses track of time as she starts daydreaming once again.  With the faucets finally turned off, she steps out of the shower and dries off.  Her “mirror time” routine is the same – contacts, mouthwash, moisturizer, make-up, blow-dry.  Her chestnut hair is getting longer – the first time she’s tried to grow it out in years.

She’s once again in the bedroom, now warmed by the space heater, and swears when she notices she’s running late. She quickly dresses in chef’s whites and ugly slip-safe shoes, rolls her sleeves, and places a thermometer in her pocket.  She turns off and unplugs the heater, closes the bedroom door behind her and runs into the living room to turn off the CD player.  She grabs her bags – her green purse, the orange and pink Herve Chapelier filled with laptop and yoga clothes and the black & white graphic Target special containing chef knives, chef’s hat, work clothes, CIA book and notebook.  With arms full and weighed down with bags, she locks the front door and throws everything in the trunk of the roadster – no room in the seats for much but her and the wind.  She puts the top down, wraps her hair in a cream scarf, adjusts the music and off she races to school.  The sun is bright in the sky and she breathes in deeply – she love this time as well…