Fantasy Versus Reality: The Lies I Tell Myself
Though my intentions are always good, there exists a chasm between fantasy and reality that I can’t quite bridge when it comes to my typical day. Perhaps I should blame my unbridled optimism, but great expectations often wither against time constraints and the fact that I’m not actually super-human. Unfortunately there aren’t twenty-eight hours in a day, and I need at least two out of twenty-four hours to devote to coffee.
In this vein, inspired by the original post by A.S. Akkalon, here’s a breakdown of how I think I spend my day versus what actually happens.
6:30 AM – “You’re my favorite person.”
I wake to my husband’s alarm, sit up smiling and say “You’re my favorite person.” While he gets ready for work I catch up on the news. At the foot of the bed Prince Luca (the cat) opens one yellow eye just a slit, then rolls over and curls up against my legs. I kiss my husband goodbye, set the alarm for 9:30, and Prince Luca and I quickly fall back to sleep.
A few minutes before my husband’s alarm, Prince Luca throws my phone from the nightstand and starts playing the window blinds like a harp; it’s time for morning treats, and apparently they taste better from my hand than from the hands of the human who is about to get up anyways. I stomp off to the kitchen and throw some treats on the floor. My husband is up now. I tell him “You’re my favorite person,” before collapsing into bed. I may or may not remember him kissing me a few minutes later on the way out the door.
9:23 AM – Up and at ’em
A few minutes before my alarm I wake again, fresh, rejuvenated, and ready to take on the world. I tune in to the BBC News Hour on my phone and scratch Prince Luca behind the ears before dancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. There is much to do today, but first, coffee and a run!
My 9:30 alarm startles me, and I hit snooze twice. When I finally drag myself to a sitting position I manage to catch the last few minutes of the BBC News Hour, and the news is depressing. Prince Luca rolls onto his back and blinks slowly, asking why I’m getting up. I shrug, I guess I don’t have to. . .
No! I hate wasting daylight, and I’ve got grand ambitions of going for a run. I step carefully out of bed, wincing a little at my plantar fasciitis pain, and walk groggily to the kitchen, where I grind some beans and set water to boil for coffee.
10:00 AM – Coffee and creativity
Armed with a pot of French Press, I sit in the living room, open my laptop, and marvel at the words that spill out of me. Not only do I publish today’s blog post, but I crank out the post I’ve got planned for early next week (I’m always four posts ahead). I also manage to get a little editing done on my forthcoming novel—all before I reach the bottom of cup number two. I log into Twitter for a strict ten minutes, then lace up my shoes and hit the pavement for a five mile run.
After two cups of coffee I manage to eek out a whopping hundred words of today’s blog post. In fact, I might not finish it today—what ever happened to working ahead? I pour a third cup and glance outside. It looks colder than I’d like; that run might have to wait until tomorrow. I need a short break from the writing to let my head clear, so I open Twitter.
An hour later I look at the time and my heart starts racing! How’d I go that far down the rabbit hole? I click back to the blog, do my best to focus, and somehow manage to finish the post.
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Revenge is better with a side of bacon. . .
I should really get out there for that run. It’s probably not that cold, but it looks like it could rain. I wouldn’t want to get caught in that. . .
1:00 PM – Prep for the workday
I’ve showered and I’m feeling energized. I whip together an amazing, vegetable laden quinoa pilaf to take to work. I finish cooking in enough time to leave the kitchen spotless, play with Prince Luca and his sister Sookie for a bit, and put in a few minutes on Twitter before leaving for work.
I seem to have slipped into the Twitter hole again and I realize I don’t have nearly enough time to get everything done I need to. It isn’t 1pm, it’s 1:30 already. Like a madman I dash around the house cleaning up; the bed needs to be made, there are dishes to wash, and the trash desperately needs to go out. I leap into the shower and groan when I realize I need to shave today. That’s another five minutes I didn’t budget.
With mere minutes to spare I throw my work things in my backpack, invariably forgetting something. I meant to make a lovely quinoa pilaf, but that’s clearly not going to happen. Instead I settle for a frozen Trader Joe’s Mac and Cheese.
I wonder for the thousandth time why this part of the day always has to be so stressful. Tomorrow I’m going to get everything done early. I’ve got all morning for goodness’ sake!
2:15 PM – Self-propelled commute
I climb on my bike and a warm tail-wind accompanies me along my eight mile ride to work. The temperature is perfect and I crank the pedals with ease.
It’s only May and I’m already so sick of biking! The wind is in my face and I can’t believe it’s this cold. My legs are sore and there is a ton of traffic on the bike path. Still, halfway through, my spirits lift and I’m finally warm. I guess maybe I’m not sick of biking after all, but I’d sure love if there wasn’t this damned head wind.
3:15 PM – Making money
I start my work day at the University Pool. Everyone is happy, it’s not too busy, and the minutes speed by at a breakneck pace. Before I know it, the day is halfway done. I sit in a lifeguard chair and scan the pool while I think about all the writing I’m going to get done when I get back home tonight.
On my breaks I talk to my husband on the phone. We’re both having the best day, and we’ve got so many stories to share we can’t fit them all into a half-hour conversation.
Work is a madhouse. I’ve got four different water-polo groups spread over the course of the day, each requiring a labor-intensive setup and tear-down. A diver over-rotates and manages a deafening back-flop that nearly gives me a heart attack. Before I know it the day is halfway done and I’m exhausted!
On my breaks I talk to my husband and wish I was home with him; we’ve been working opposite schedules for years. It’s a Monday so not much is going on. I consider talking about the weekend, but it’s too far away and that would just be depressing. We last on the phone for just a few minutes, but just hearing his voice gives me a little more energy. I’m thankful for the conversation, even though there isn’t a lot to say.
12:00 AM – Home again
I made it home from work before my husband was asleep and we caught up for a few precious minutes. Now he sleeps soundly while I sip a little wine and listen to my nightly chill radio program. I open the laptop, spend a few short minutes on Twitter, and then get back to writing and editing.
I made it home with just enough time to give my husband a quick peck on the lips. I sit down with a glass of wine with the intention to make some headway on my writing, but the wine and effort of the day quickly defeat me. I listen to my nightly radio program and try not to feel bad about relaxing as I scroll through Twitter. Why do I feel guilty about not being constantly productive? I have a second glass and think I’ll do better tomorrow.
2:00 AM – Sweet, sweet sleep
Fantasy and Reality Converge:
Bedtime. I take a few minutes to write in my journal and celebrate everything I accomplished today (even if it wasn’t everything I’d hoped to). I climb into bed and look at my husband, thankful for our perfectly imperfect life. Before turning out the light I make sure to secure my phone better on the nightstand. In a few short hours Prince Luca will be throwing it on the floor. Then it’ll be rinse, repeat.
As I drift off to sleep, I wonder what I might do if there were twenty-eight hours in a day after all.
Now your thoughts! Is there a disconnect between how you think you spend your day and what actually happens? Let me know in the comments below.
Also in the spirit of A.S. Akkalon’s original post, if you’d like to write your own Fantasy versus Reality post, link to this page and I’ll link back. Please do the same for A.S. Akkalon. So far here are the others who have participated:
In his take, fellow LGBT indie-author Marcus Lopés struggles to turn 360 degrees in his Toronto condo, while still managing to pull off fine French Cuisine.
Anders Woolf has an interesting walk to work and needs a modern-day rosetta stone to decipher a student’s essay in her version.
Let’s see how far this could go!
Thanks as always for reading (this was a long one).