Monday morning, I wake up to alarm 2. It's not looking good. I feel so completely lacking in energy I want to ignore the alarm - but sensibly it's placed away from bed so I have to get up to turn it off, and it's not nearly as pleasant as alarm 1 which is the Kylie cd which has now stopped. (I snooze to Kylie every morning - I've tried a host of different cd's but she's consistently the best wake up music for me so far... not that she actually makes me get out of the bed) . The damn beeping one wins and I'm on autopilot to the shower. Shaving next stop, a bowl of cereal and fruit eaten in front of my pc with the latest news and blog updates. London Preppy has usually posted by now and I laugh myself awake, look at the time and rush to finish the cereal I'm eating because invariably I'm running late. The garage door closes remotely and I'm testing the supercharger my German engineering has installed to delight and propel me. I wonder as to whether I should accelerate so heavily as an environmentally responsible citizen, then I look at the time and my mind moves on, to the tempo of Bob Sinclair's Love Generation. My staff smile and welcome me in, they will have told my patients that I'll be there about now, and the day is underway. I have a mix of people to see, from the superhunk blonde 25 year old with muscles that need no more defining to the middle aged woman with a work injury that she doesn't seem to want to get better, to the kids pointing at the jelly bean container that I have mixed feelings about in the glassed in cabinet.
I escape into my seriously shortened lunchtime, after spending 50 minutes removing an implanted rod from a woman's arm that is not nearly as easy at they say in the promotional material, into a scorching day. Despite my sense of reason I go running in the heat and saturate my t-shirt with a sixpack-seeking sweat, then dive into the pool with 2 minutes of my lunch time left (lunch is still back at the surgery). Work continues evenly yet intensely for the afternoon. There was one patient where think I lost count at 6 yawns - but my post prandial somnolence thankfully doesn't last too long. They were in another world anyway - so I get away with it. And for the first time in weeks I finish on time.
The supermarket is filled with my patients, one of whom is the 25 year old I'd seen earlier in the day, this time with his girlfriend - it was quite funny given the personal nature of the consultation to cross paths at almost every aisle and then again at the checkout. But I'm not complaining.
Home with the wind in my hair - a balmy evening - & collapse onto the couch with Norah Jones playing - The Frenchman spontaneously vomits on hearing her, so with him still on his way home, I'm safe - and I know I can sleep to her. A candle is lit for atmosphere, but completely wasted given I'm snoozing. The Frenchman arrives home and we prepare a dinner of roasted fish and salad and discuss the day with a volley of text messages interspersed to various third parties following up things from the weekend, and a selection of news programs dissecting the current election campaign. We were given some home baked choc chip cookies today and a third of them survive the night.
I read Single in the City and wonder why I didn't add him to my list of blogs before, then watch a man showering on Aussielicious but wonder why, and ponder what to post today - something different and innovative - because I like to be different an innovative, but I end up with a web log of my day, which is I guess what this is supposed to be in the first place. And then it's finished and I go to bed.
I have played, I don't know how many, Norah Jones songs on my ipod today because I slept through most of them.