7:30 a.m. Emerge from bedroom. Avoid tripping over sashaying cat.
Pulling parka hood down over face so passersby won’t recognize self in pajamas, accompany dog outside. Wait patiently in snow until ritual accomplished. Deliver heartfelt praise.
Brush snow off dog and self. Feed and water dog and cat, briefly zapping raw food in microwave as act of loving care.
8:00 a.m. Fix desultory breakfast for spouse and self, doing best to ignore depressing news on radio. Drink coffee. Swallow nutritional supplements to ensure health and longevity. Drink 16 oz H2O to prevent general shrinkage. Count blessings.
Clean cat litter box; brush dog’s teeth.
Brush own teeth. Vigorously swish mouthwash for one minute, as recommended by dentist.
Resolve to write while rested and fresh. Best writers all wrote in a.m.–Hemingway, Vonnegut, Woolf, Angelou. Reflect some dead by suicide.
Meditation will help clear mind, but decide to check email first, also spam folder. Unsubscribe from six lists. Put off answering messages until later. Brief detour through FB, repressing annoyance at friends’ rich, meaningful lives.
10:00 a.m. Water drooping Swedish ivy. Pull off brown geranium leaves and throw outside. Mist houseplants. Refill birdbath. Observe obese squirrel on suet feeder. Suppress desire to purchase firearm.
Check yesterday’s to-do list. Find no items to cross out. Add new items.
Do eight sets of Dr. Weil’s 4-7-8 breaths to calm self.
Sit on meditation cushion, drafting imaginary letters to Congress and rehearsing minor revenge fantasies until 20-minute bell rings.
Get up stiffly off floor. Decide yoga session essential for survival. Will start writing immediately after.
11:00 a.m. Priority: PT exercises to alleviate hand pain, possibly similar to pain suffered by Henry James.
Unroll yoga mat, get down on floor, do cat/cows, down-face dogs, planks, forward bends, bridges, and pigeons, shooing real cat off mat. Tree pose still wobbly.
Worry that it’s middle of morning, and self still in pajamas.
Get up stiffly off floor, recall centenarian grannies in Okinawa remain nimble thanks to lifetime of squatting. Remind self to squat frequently throughout the day.
Change towels, sort laundry, start first load. (Will write while clothes wash!) Add detergent to shopping list.
Take shower. Ponder washing hair, decide no time to dry. Moisturize, deodorize, get dressed. Find hole in sock. Remember mother mending socks, briefly consider doing same. Throw sock in trash.
12:30 p.m. Notice dog looking wistfully at self, provoking familiar guilt reflex. Take dog for long walk.
Promise self serious writing session upon return.